


Say It

by Mouse9, Ukthxbye



Series: Don't Complicate It [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Conversations, BDSM discussion, Bachelorette Party, Bisexual Disasters, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, Greg is Sweet, Greg is a gentleman, Heavy Drinking, Irene is her own worst enemy, Memories, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Regret, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Travel, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weddings, not gonna lie you are gonna go through it with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: Irene thought she wasn't the take to a wedding kind and a friendship with Greg tenuous at best. But he offered a plea for a last minute wedding trip to Scotland on the promise it was to keep the charade up for his ex for fun. It was just a weekend after all?
Relationships: Irene Adler/Greg Lestrade
Series: Don't Complicate It [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301933
Comments: 35
Kudos: 19





	1. Do you want my company?

Greg expected her to tell him to sod off. Or ignore the text. Fully in her rights to but she'd said okay and here she was on her way. He ordered some curry from around the corner. Simple table set up and a decent wine with matched black takeout forks set on a wiped down table. Table they'd eaten at before and after. A few other things that one time and he smirked to himself before shaking away the recollection. Dangerously close to regret and he needed a clearer head. He shouldn't put any effort forward to an assured rejection, he thought. But she'd surprised him at every turn before. Much more complex than he or anyone could understand and more importantly, he desired to understand her. Could he do that; dare that as a friend? He needed to try.

An old university friend required someone to take over a groomsman spot this weekend in Edinburgh. Messaged him on Facebook even though the most they ever did was like each other's rare posts. Greg said okay anyway. Getting out of town sounded amazing but his friend told him Greg's ex would be attending. Something desperate in him stirred and he asked if he could bring a date without a clue who to ask and his mate assured that was expected. His friend said everything's arranged and room paid for as well. The groomsman who dropped out was close in measurements. Smaller jacket size wise than the original but manageable and Greg already had shoes that worked.

Problem was, date. Even if this offer occurred a month ago, asking Irene a questionable endeavor. But desperate times, as they say. He'd asked a couple friends, but they declined and he needed to book the tickets. So he sent the text, and somehow at least that part worked out. Now to wait.

Irene took the stairs quickly. "Get it over with whatever it is" she sighed to herself. The curry overwhelmed her nose as he opened the door when her knuckles barely touched the wood. 

"Were you listening at the door for me?" She smirked at him as he stood back to let her in. 

Silence. He'd planned words and she too. But they fell heavy to the back of their minds instead of their lips. She'd dyed her hair back to a severe brown. Pulled up on her head meticulously without a stray hair, he observed. His eyes traveled down her tight black dress, but he pulled them back to her face. She is truly Irene Adler again, he mused, and something in him cracked like lightning. He missed her all the sudden, even with her standing before him, wide eyed blue drawing him in. 

"Hey" he eked out with a crooked smile.

Awkward hardly in her vocabulary, but she couldn't find another word for it. Part of her mind flashed to running her fingers up his chest. Kissing him hard as she shoved him onto the sofa. She sensed her return to dark hair off putting. They'd both gotten used to the blonde version of her, something lighter. But this costume was her favourite, and she reminded herself of its power.

"You have something to ask," she asked louder than she meant to as she slipped by him to the table, setting her purse down by her chair as she sat, smoothing her dress. Normally she brushed a hand across him in seduction as she stepped slow. Such a fun, simple game she would have played less than a fortnight ago.  _ Make a new one. _

Greg huffed out a deep breath and shook away his thoughts as he joined her at the table. 

Two more breaths and he'd wish he'd put on music. She was thankful he hadn't.

"Okay…" he held his hands up, looking down at the table and back at her. " I just want to put a disclaimer out. Not trying anything funny or cute or romantic, okay?"

Her eyebrow rose. "You have dinner with wine."

He shrugged his right shoulder, squinting. "Friends have dinner… anyway—"

She sighed, grabbing the bottle of wine and pouring her own glass, and motioned him to hand her his glass.

He began again as he watched her take the glass and fill it, hoping the alcohol burns out the lump growing in his throat. "Not asking to talk about anything in the past… I got a favor to ask."   
  


She chuckled lightly, looking at the ceiling as she laid a hand on the table and set his glass down. "Oh then I see... Here we go then. The payment—"

"'What? ," his lips curled down into a frown. "No past talks, remember? That's done… and done."

Greg scratched his chin, ignoring the creeping tingle in his spine she always drew forth. "No, this is just a… friend to another?"

"Friends?" the softness in her voice shocked them into silence again.    
  


He licked his lips. "It's possible… I think. We talked, and we liked each other's company."

"What is the point of this?" she said with a heavy breath out her nose, shifting her weight as she crossed her arms. "What's the favor and I'll entertain the thought of eating dinner here." She should entertain none of it, but the curry was one of her favorites for a casual dinner and she'd skipped lunch. She waved her hand at him as she lifted her glass. "Please proceed."

"There's this wedding…"

She coughed at the sip of her wine. "Pardon?"

"Uni friends, needed a last minute groomsmen this weekend that fit the tux. He asked me."

She nodded, taking a deep gulp, "You need a date."

He shrugged, alternating between rubbing his fingers on the glass stem and laying his hand out flat. "My ex is going… might be a bit childish, but... So yeah, I need a date… well not need but it—"

"Yes." She didn't think it through, but too late now. 

He missed her meaning and leaned on the table, seeking her eyes. "You won't have to pay anything he's got it all covered and I understand—

"Greg..."

"And it's Edinburgh during a nice time of year, bit cool at night, and I know you and my ex had words but—"

"Greg" she said as she laid a hand on his to stop him and they both stared down for a couple breaths. _ Move your hand _ , she yelled at herself. She snatched it away and closed her eyes.

"I said yes," she sighed. 

"So… okay." He gulped, his eyes still on his tingling hand. _ How, _ he thought,  _ how after everything does she do this? _

"So pour some more wine and tell me what to expect," she forced a tight smile controlling her breaths with precision.

Greg nodded, pouring her glass full again, "It's a long weekend. Friday to Sunday."

She leaned down and pulled her mobile from her purse, checking her calendar. "You're lucky I set this weekend free of clients. Planned on relaxation but a girl has a hard time refusing an all expenses paid holiday. I assume your friends have decent tastes if they can afford this.'

"Yeah, they're rich... but they were even in uni."

She smirked. "Oh mummy and daddy's sort of money then? Hmm... might need to know names, to keep any awkward meetings..."

"I'll get you a guest list. I'll say it's for my own potential conflicts." He chuckled, bringing his glass to his lips.

Her lips curled up. "I wouldn't mind some curry."

"Great I'm starving." he laughed standing, pulling the containers to them, taking her plate and serving her a pile of rice and orange pungent sauce. The stream carried the aroma that hit her stomach. It answered with a grumble.

"You skip lunch like me?" he asked, looking up over his plate. 

She snickered, "It would seem so." The warm food pared with the wine eased her nerves. Perhaps he was onto something for the friends idea. They enjoyed dinners before chatting about nothing and everything. 

They both looked up catching the other's stare. Dropping their gaze an option for both, but relenting to the other a weakness. 

God, had her eyes always been that blue, he thought. Something about the dark hair made them like ice. But they were more like the ocean, and he blinked before he got pulled under. 

"Where are we staying?" she asked, finger poised to look it up on her mobile she picked up.

Greg brought up his mobile from his pocket, checking the email. "The Balmoral?"

Irene whistled and grinned as she set her phone down. "They are posh, aren't they?"

He grinned. "Nice?"

"The normal rooms aren't anything to write home about but the others used to be well designed. Spent a year in Edinburgh and I'm familiar."

He only nodded, reminding her how he always knew when not to ask for details. But curiosity? Oh, she had it in spades and he did too. 

She wished he'd explore it more. 

One more sip of wine and he did.

He tried to feign a casual voice, tearing a piece of naan and handing her the other half. "Was that traditional work or study or?..."

"Let's say it was related." She studied his reaction. 

He pushed his food around the plate with his fork. "Well, long as it was safe… and legal-ish…"

"It was psychology course work in sexuality."

His eyes shot back up at her, " Really? Did some of your own research on the side, I assume?"

She smiled. "Yes, shocking I know?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "You know, it really isn't."

She pouted, leaning toward him, "Oh how sad that I can't shock you anymore."

That boyish grin returned to her in full glory as he leaned over as well. "Baby—"

She put her fingers over his lip, with a raised eyebrow, "Perhaps we refrain from the pet names here?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes steady looking into hers. Could they do this, they both pondered. 

"Irene…" he emphasized each syllable as she dropped her hand. "So new rules we need to establish about this… arrangement."

His eyes darkened, she could see memories of their past arrangement rolled across his brain. But he softened his look, its effect more disconcerting, and she turned her stare back to her food.

"I assume we must share a room."

"I only have one room but..."

"No sex."

He huffed. "Obviously… just friends and we're over that, right?"  _ Lies.  _ "With different benefits now."

She pursed her lips in thought. "But kissing and other such romantic behaviours are a must in public, as I assume we are fully playing couple?"

He shrugged. "If you want to keep it more ambiguous…."

She shook her head. "No, when exes such as yours are involved, best to keep such assumptions indisputable,' she smirked. 

He nodded. " So you understand the game. Thanks. You okay with that, though? I mean..."

"We're well practiced. And you can act as well as I."

"Yeah.. yeah it's, we got this. It's a fun game, right?"

"Oh it can be quite delightful, a bit of visual revenge." She flashed a mischievous grin, and he matched it. 

"I'm sure you got the dress for it" he sipped his wine, his eyes straying down to her chest and back as he licked his lips. 

She gave him a censoring glare but his countenance shifted fast to something neutral and he went back to his food.

"I've got a cupboard full of them." she smiled, but then pouted. 

He frowned, " What is it?"

" Am I being myself or… is there—"

"Very much yourself. But maybe keep the lingerie at home?"

"But what if work calls?" she huffed in jest.

" Irene, I'm your… friend, but I'm still a Detective Inspector? Perhaps let's keep this a non-work vacation."

"No murders then I hope."

"Or Sherlock Holmes," he laughed and grimaced.

She drew a deep breath through her nose. "If he shows up, I get to slap him."

Greg blew out a hard breath, "Irene… "

"Well..."

"I'll knock him out first and send him on a train back to London so no need," he giggled, and she joined. 

He raised his glass, " To friendship, fun, turning some heads and making my ex as uncomfortable as possible."

"I'll drink to that" she tapped her glass to his, holding his stare once more. 

He dropped it first. The tension is still palpable, but it could be used to their advantage he sensed.

"Tell me about everyone you know who is attending, I like to know the other players."

"Oh looking for a proper date now?"

She licked her lips as she smiled. "Perhaps… I'm sure there's a woman there who might be curious at least."

He nodded. "No doubt. Just keep the illusion up for us and put a sock on the door handle if you need the room."

She furrowed her brow. "Really?"

"Yes… yeah, I mean that fits the old rules too, right? I'm not dumb, I'm sure you enjoyed company besides mine during… yeah," he shrugged.

"And you?" she raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. Curiosity striking once again. 

"Don't like to kiss and tell but yeah I went on a couple dates" he cocked his head and looked away. It was a lie. But he needed to play along in this casual conversation and yet it always feels like another one flowed underneath. 

She should leave it there, but she spoke her next thought, anyway. "And yet you aren't taking them to the wedding."

He bit his lip, his eyes unflinching as he held her stare. "No. I'm not."

A tingle in her spine urged her to glance away. His voice and his words deliberate finding unexpected cracks like water finding its path. Their meaning clear but it needed to end there, she reminded herself.

She put on a large smile. "Well! Yes. Tell me some lies about these friends of yours they always tell or maybe what to expect."

Greg sighed, but let a soft smile slip. "Let's make a plan then."

-:-

Greg got separate plane tickets for them as she requested. His flight earlier than her's on purpose.

"For dramatic effect," she grinned as they discussed a plan. "Just make sure we have witnesses when I arrive." They'd giggled together over the looks they would get and she couldn't deny she looked forward to the weekend. She missed the old city, all its edges rough and ragged to London's white-washed walls. Scotland remained a part of her aesthetic. Something in the wild rebellious spirit stuck with her. 

Friday morning she'd slept in later than she meant to and set to packing right away

She checked the weather. Sunny and slightly warm? "Oh that is lovely" she said as she looked toward the back of her cupboard for something she rarely uses. But why not take advantage of the trip? She pulled up her mobile.

**Go purchase some hiking boots and clothes when you get there- IA**

**Really? -GL**

**Got an idea for a different sort of activity since the weather is supposed to be excellent… unless there are other requirements for you as a member of the wedding party. -IA**

**Intrigued. None known. There's a hen and stag parties tonight of course, but free to be tourists during the day. Boarding here soon. Text me when you fly and when you land. -GL**

**_Of course. See you soon. -IA_ **

She checked the time on her mobile and swore. Well it was just enough time to get ready since her makeup is packed but she wished she'd picked her clothes last night. She snatched up the boots and some yoga bottoms and a long sleeve top. And a sporty rain parka. It is Scotland, after all. 

Now to the dresses. Today would be a sophisticated cream Chanel number that traveled well and a similar suit for Sunday. But she needed something dramatic for the wedding. Lace? Yes. Scandalous? Well within decorum still.

Oh yes, she needed two. The wedding was at the hotel, so a costume changed in order. What color was his tuxedo? She assumed a gray for an afternoon wedding, but money didn't always indicate taste. 

Her eyes landed on a teal green lace top and tweed dress. Business like and yet not. Most of all, the appearance of expense. "It might be too much for an afternoon wedding… but then again so am I. She grinned to herself but the words she'd said to Sherlock earlier in the week snuck in her thoughts. She wasn't the "ask to a wedding" kind of girl and yet, here she was packing for that very thing. True, he needed a date, and she obliged. How did he do this? Why beyond the obvious? But no time for those musings so keep moving forward, she reminded herself. 

For the evening reception? "Black… and let's keep the lace theme. He likes me in lace."

She paused once again. What did it matter? Well, his reactions would matter. But he could act as well as her. 

"I'll hedge my bets though and make it easier for him…" she sighed as she moved her hand along a lacy sheer Oscar de le Renta. She took it from the hanger and held it up to look in the mirror.

"Yes. The right amount of wanton… with restraint. Below my knees and it has sleeves after all," she snickered to herself as she carefully packed it. Heels, of course, beautiful ones with ribbon wraps. And where was that one handbag?

She looked at her mobile again and grabbed the closest black handbag. "No time to be fussy about that."

In an hour she was packed and in the taxi headed for the airport. Her phone buzzed in her hand as the taxi neared Heathrow.

**Landed. You headed to the airport?-GL**

**Yes.- IA**

**Let me know when you land. Headed to hotel, was on flight with another groomsman. Chatted a bit. Handsome fellow. -GL**

**Don't start any of the fun without me.- IA**

**Never could.-GL**

**You'll love the dresses I'm wearing this weekend.-IA**

**And here I thought we weren't flirting yet.-GL**

**Not flirting. Your friends will be impressed, in case they are the types that only respect money. Your ex needs to see what you can pull.- IA**

**I like that, but she'll never admit it.-GL**

**She doesn't have to. Her eyes will say it all. Lace has that effect. -IA**

**Oh. Then I look forward to it.-GL**

**Headed into the airport. Best of luck until I get there -IA**


	2. Slow grenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Irene arrive and begin their charade. But also they carve out time to test another role for each other. Can they be just friends?

Greg stopped at Mountain Warehouse on the way to the hotel. Some decent hiking trainers picked out. Shorts? According to his mobile, the weather will be sunny and warm this afternoon. He snagged a water resistant parka on the clearance rack. It is Scotland after all, he considered.

He strolled down Prince Street, suitcase rolling on the bumpy cobblestone on parts. The air filled his lungs, cool and fresh. This was a wonderful idea, he reflected as he stepped up to the Balmoral. 

"Greg!" 

Reggie came in for a handshake as Greg entered. Greg obliged, squeezing back just as hard as he sent.

"Thanks again and welcome!" An attractive blonde appearing at Reggie's side said. 

Greg grinned. "You must be Emily" and he leaned in for a quick cheek kiss" and turned to Reggie. "So you wanna marry this old — "

Reggie slapped his arm and Greg's grin fell. "Come on copper! Who wouldn't want to marry me?"

"I certainly don't," Greg huffed.

Emily flashed an enormous smile, " Good, you might steal my Reggie-kins away. He is de-lish."

The two stared into the other's eyes. Greg admitted to himself it appeared at least a feigned happiness. So hard to tell with rich ones.

Reggie glanced around. "Where's your date then?"

"Oh, she had some business to take care of and she caught a later flight. Should be here within the next couple hours."

Emily squeaked. "Please tell me she's joining us for our hen party. Such fun. I wouldn't want her to be in the hotel by herself all night while we're all set for the fun drinking time of our lives."

"She's not the stay in the room kind," Greg snickered to himself. " But I'll ask her."  
  


Emily grinned, "I'll ask her myself later. Oh, she simply must."

With that, she patted Reggie's chest and walked into the left, squealing as she met another group of women. 

  
  


The air cleared and her lungs took their fill as she stepped from the taxi and nodded at the bellhop.

**Is everyone in the lobby?-IA**

**Bar** **. Called the Bollengier, I think. Come on in.-** **GL**

She checked her hair and lipstick. Perfect, as she ran a finger along the line of her bottom lip to spy the driver's reaction out of the corner of her eye. 

A doorman took her bags for storage and walked to the bar.

**On my way. Follow my lead once I arrive.-IA**

She slipped off her sunglasses, scanning across the burgundy ornate room, half filled with wedding party chatting. She noted a tea table piled with cakes and steaming pots. She searched further. Greg's eyes met hers and they matched grins across the room as she stepped in. 

Irene spied his ex, delighting inside as her aw dropped, slight and she clamped it back. Irene smiled in her direction as she walked by.

Powerful deliberation and sex in every step and another set of eyes on her from the men. Then the women. Oh, that heady mixed of curious jealousy she loved to exploit in the past. Men just wanted to fuck her but women it was a mix of it all. She caught the eyes of two as she passed, but she remembered the game. Greg licked his lip as she reached him, pressed into him.

His teeth scraped his bottom lip as he whispered. "Hey, baby doll."

That lit up old nerve endings, and she answered their call, red fingernails reaching up to trace his jaw as she grabbed his chin. He didn't resist, and she brought him in for a deep kiss, tongue obvious, and she pulled away with a nip to his bottom lip,

She whispered back, "Hello darling"

The tingle her kiss left on his lips burned deeper when she called him darling. A new title. But he licked it away, slipping his hand around her waist, fingers resting on her hip. 

Reggie approached, " Greg, I see your date—"

"Arrived? Irene smirked. "Yes. You must be Reginold," she said with her hand out. _Salt and pepper hair, more pepper. Athletic but with a few extra stones with age revealed through straining buttons at his middle_. She noted he puffed his chest out as he tucked his chin in as he scanned her frame. She always hated that look. 

"Reggie," he said as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she shifted just out of his way and more into Greg's side. 

Irene looked around him, "And the bride?"

"Yeah… Ems?" he motioned, and she stepped over, caution in her eyes, but they grew wide as they traveled down Irene's frame.

Greg swallowed, moving his hand to Irene's back. "Emily this is --"

"Irene Adler," Irene smiled and leaned in, kissing both of Emily's cheeks. 

"Welcome! Welcome. My, that dress is fa-bu-lous, Chanel? Has to be. Greg, your date is dishy, why did you not tell," Emily smacked his arm. "She simply must and I insist on this, must attend the party tonight," Emily put on a pout. "Please do say yes."

Irene's eyebrow stayed raised the whole time Emily spouted without breathing.

_Dress bright and showy_ , f _ull figure but head_ _empty_ _… well, not_ _empty_ _but manic,_ Irene sighed internally.

"Say it. Say you'll come tonight, it will be fun! Come! I'll introduce you to all the girls. You must!"

Emily grabbed Irene's hand and pulled her away. Irene shot Greg a look over her shoulder and his smirk told her this wasn't unexpected.

"That one's got her own money then," Reggie grinned, looking much too long at Irene, and Greg coughed before he answered to divert his attention. 

"What of it? We have a pleasant time and we keep it even." Use to, anyway. Not sure what this recent game is yet, he thought.

"Birds like it a little unbalanced. Man has to keep the upper hand. But bet she's a minx in the bedroom, eh?

"I don't kiss and tell."

Reggie slapped his back. "Keep your secrets then. You never liked to share, did you? Just keep it down in the hotel. We're two doors down. She's an old building, thinner walls you know."

Greg sighed, wishing he had a drink.

Irene glanced in his direction. Reggie kept eyeing her and for a moment she felt pity for Emily. One more rich man used to doing what he wanted. 

"Oh this is such fun but here we are in a bar and…" Irene opened her hands up and shrugged. "No drinks?"

Em giggled, "It's not even 12 yet."

Irene bit her lip and sighed. "Mimosas are always acceptable. Pardon me."  
  


Irene stepped away to the first staff member she could find. Greg's eyes followed her path, and he wondered what she was pulling, and he brought his mobile up.

**What's up-GL**

**Oh, I'm making a scene like I** **always** **do- IA**

**What are you doing?-GL**

**You'll see- IA**

He closed his eyes. He trusted her. Wait, he thought. He trusted her? But he wouldn't have done anything so far if he didn't to some degree.

His eyes met hers as she stepped back to his side, trailing a hand up his chest as she used his shoulder to help vault her to a seat on the bar.

Some eyes in the group turned to her, and she noted Em's odd smile.

Greg leaned up, and she bent over as he whispered in her ear. 

"What are you doing?" he drawled deliberately, his breath caressing her ear. 

She leaned over and whispered back, her eyes still on the room as attention shifted back to her. "Dominance is psychological. Money is their trigger."

She pulled up a glass from behind her and tinked her finger nail on it to get the rest of the room's attention.

"Thank you for your attention. This is a wedding, a celebration and well, I just felt we hadn't started the weekend off quite right. Something is missing."

She nodded at the side of the room and bar staff entered with bottles of Bollinger, placing them behind the bar as another entered with orange juice, and they began their work. 

Irene grinned at the stunned room. Eyes on her as she'd planned. "We simply cannot occupy this space without respect to its name. Mimosas for everyone!"

The group clapped as Greg offered his hand to aid her descent off the bar.

A low whistle broke the air as Reggie stepped to Greg and Irene. "Perhaps we shouldn't drink—"

"However you like. I personally love champagne for breakfast," she smiled as she leaned into Greg's side. "Don't worry, I upgraded the champagne for the reception as well."

Reggie huffed, but Irene patted his arm, "Consider it our wedding gift."

His stare bounced between the two of them before landing on Greg, and he sighed. "You really found a bold one, Greg."

Greg licked his lips, squeezing her hand he just realized remained unreleased. "Yeah, I sure did. Love that about her."

She'd turned toward him, hoping her eyes both censored and hid her reaction to his wording. But as he turned, he planted a kiss before she could speak. As obvious as she acted the first kiss he imitated it in this one. He slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her in tight.

Kissing is part of the plans. But somehow they slipped into an old habit much too quick, she pondered. She'd have to contemplate that later. The game rules set now, and they must continue the grand charade.

Irene licked her lips as they parted. "How about we grab a bottle for ourselves and…"

Greg grinned and nodded, "Yeah, let's get settled in the room."

Stares followed their every move. as Greg snagged a bottle from the bar and laced his fingers with hers. 

She let him pull her until they were completely out of sight. He dropped her hand and moved half a step away. 

"Well, we made an impression, I can say," he snickered, which developed into a laugh. "Best fucking fun I've had in a while."

Irene pouted as they got in the lift. "So all I ever had to do is spend too much money on champagne to impress your friends? Shame I had all that sex with you then."

He rolled his eyes and leaned over to capture hers. "Irene Adler… You can't say you didn't enjoy that."

She shrugged as she looked away, but let a smile slip through. "Did feel delicious to play the entire room, though perhaps the effect was..."

He tapped her chin with his knuckles. " You got them by the bollocks at this point. Never doubted you would. You're the master of this."

She puffed up her chest, stretching her chin out as she leaned back against the lift wall. " It is my career after all."

"I think I gained a new appreciation for it."

He asked as they stepped in the room, "So what am I supposed to do with this expensive bottle of champagne?" He snickered as he set it down at the table near the door. 

"Pack it in a bag, we'll open it at the top of Arthur's seat for the hell of it," she said as she stepped to the phone and called for her luggage. 

Greg slipped off his jacket, tossing it on the bed and began work on his tie and top button. She stared at the action. _Damn those memories._ No matter what they were now, they were something else before. She glanced down at the bed. The room outfitted in shades of blue, a mix of modern and country style. A small relief it didn't resemble anything romantic aesthetically for her. 

"Glad it's a king size bed," she said with a put on smile.

"Yeah plenty of room to keep our space, eh?"

"Yes" she said as she sat on its edge, slipping off her shoes. 

Awkward, he thought. A part of him remembered very specific things he'd do to her as she took off her earrings, like she did now. The line of her neck, to her bare shoulders. His gaze trailed on further downward than appropriate in slow surrender. When her eyes met his, they both breathed with relief at the knock at the door of the arrival of her bags.

Greg grabbed her bag and set it up on the bed for her without a word and went back to the wardrobe, snagging up his jacket on the way. "Hand me anything you wanna hang up."

She opened her bag with caution and handed him the dresses.

He held each one up for a moment as he hung them, calling out his guess for what scenes of this weekend she would do the wardrobe changes. 

She smiled as he guessed correctly each time. 

He chuckled as he passed her headed back to his bag, " You're right that black lace number is just…" He motioned a chef's kiss. "Ex's eyes might pop out of her head this time."

"You requested my assistance," she shrugged. " I don't do anything in halves, even if it is technically Pro Bono," she sighed as she pulled out her outfit for the afternoon, laying each piece out on the bed before turning. 

Her eyes met his as he stepped to her, close enough her chin turned up to meet his stare. A whiff of his cologne. A heady mix of old and new memories in this nearness and she held her breath.

He tapped the end of her nose playfully and she blinked at the gesture. "And that's why I trust you and thank you" he grinned and stepped on past her to the other side of the bed without another word.

She changed in the lavatory and him in the room. When she emerged, hair pulled back and in yoga pants, hiking boots and a tank, he smiled.

"Irene Adler you look perfectly—"

"We don't have to compliment each other in private."

"I was gonna say normal, which I _thought_ you might take as a friendly jab… but if you wanna argue — "

She rolled her eyes. "Well you look exactly like someone who bought everything this morning, especially with," she said as she stepped to him and snatched a tag away and held it up to his face. "With the price still on it."

Greg shrugged with a smirk as he snagged the tag from her. " Caught me. Don't go hiking much. City boy through and through."

Irene shook her head with a smile, " And here I assumed you needed such a kit having Sherlock Holmes to follow."

Greg leaned down grabbing his backpack and slipped the bottle of champagne in it. " Shame it won't be cold."

She patted his cheek as she laughed. "It's Bollinger, Gregory. Excellent at any temperature. We'll drink it straight from the bottle."

They held each other's eyes for a moment, locked in quiet breathing between the others.

Greg licked his lips and looked up and away. "I see the elephant in the room in your eyes, and we're just gonna ignore it. Big room, tall ceilings. Plenty of space for it."

She looked down and away at the same time. "Its habit… that's all." But she wasn't sure why she even allowed that thought to leave her lips instead of said in her head. 

His sigh turned into a chuckle as he stepped to the door and held it open. " We'll suss it out. Let's get some fresh Scottish air. Can't hurt on a day like this."

-:-

The sun blinded across the clear blue sky, the wind stinging for a moment at the top of their climb. The open air, sun and something different physical between them gave a new conversation, easy and decidedly normal. Jokes at each other's expense and perhaps friendship was in the cards, they both thought. When they reached the top, she watched him opening the champagne and stepped back. 

"Why are you backing up so far," he huffed and then screeched as the popped pressure echoed across the hill, spraying champagne with full force. She cackled and bent over.

He shook the spray off his hands and cut his eyes at her. "You knew that would happen."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she moved back beside him. He licked his fingers and down his hand and she frowned. 

"What? It's so expensive, I'd be licking it off that rock if I'd bought it."

She shook her head as she took the bottle from his hands by the neck. "That's taking the mineral notes in it a bit too far." She turned the bottle up, taking a tiny sip and still coughing a bit at the carbonation as she handed it back and he did the same. 

They stood taking in the vista, sharing the bottle back and forth in silent reverence for nature. 

The view across the city was clear. A rare sight for Scotland and the sun beaming across the white and leaping blue of the sea. It wasn't Mykonos,, but it held something wild and rare in its muted landscape, Irene mused. 

She put her hands on her hips as she stepped near the edge and he joined her. "Really beautiful even after all this time."

"Yes… it is." 

She'd turned her head just enough to catch where his eyes focused and her cheeks went hot.

He glanced away, taking a big swig of champagne and coughing, "Yeah… I mean the seas just look—"  
  


"Greg..."

"Oh shut it." he sighed, waving a dismissive hand at her. But with a deep breath, he met her stare. "Look, deal ok? I'm still going to think you're beautiful" He shrugged and looked away and her eyes sought the horizon. "But…" he paused until she turned her gaze back to him. "Even if it's just as… a friend? Because we're trying that, but still I'm gonna say it."

His smile lopsided and begged for a concession. She should put her foot down, tell him such compliments bordered on something else for them. Problem was, him saying the words felt safe and warm sitting in her chest. It wasn't empty platitude. She knew she was beautiful too. 

"Fine, "she huffed, folding her arms before glazing and snagging the bottle from him and taking a deep drink, emptying it. Compliments were just that… but why did she care if he said them? She stepped back, handing him the empty vessel to put away and checking her mobile to distract that train of uncomforting thought. 

"We should hike down, have to get ready for the parties tonight." She sighed, gazing once more at the sea as she turned to the trail. 

"You gonna behave?" He said as she passed by him.

"Never." 

"Good."

"How about you? Gregory with a few pints and out with the boys—"

"I'll be keeping them from getting arrested."

"Always head school boy then."

He sniffed, "Far from it darling…"

She turned her head and their eyes paused in stare again as he stepped by her. "I'd just rather not call in any favors if I don’t have to."

He chuckled as he walked away, stepping and hopping down the slope as she slowed her pace, watching out for mossy stones. 

What was this afternoon, she pondered. Her idea of the entire thing and yet here she's put on her heels for more than once. She shook away the thoughts and jogged down with care. 

They made it down the steeper part, Greg in the lead but his every thought on her behind him. 

He needs to temper it. Friends. That's what they had to be now. He'd paused long enough for her to be beside him at the more looping slope downhill. 

"Lets race."

She frowned, " What—"

"1,2,3 go!" 

"Wait!"

But he took off running and she could do nothing but follow suit.

He got a sprinted lead, and she admired his zeal. Cops had that in them.

But she kept her pace and followed the natural path, watching his sprint almost catch him near the bottom of the hill. With that, she sidestepped him and surpassed him as it flattened out. 

She slowed to turn and chuckled at him bent over, chest heaving. She stopped, putting her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. 

"Did I win?" she yelled at him with a grin.  
  


He groaned, laughing through his heavy breathing, and put his finger up. One more deep breath and he straightened up, a lopping jog to stand almost against her and she looked up at him. Both chests puffed out at each other, almost touching.

"See thing is… the end of the park is the line so... ha!" He gave a playful shove to her shoulder and took off running again. 

"Oh, you arse!" she yelled as she chased after him. 

They reached the end of the park out of breath and she smacked his shoulder hard as he stopped at the pavement, laughing through heaving breaths.

She huffed, hands on hips. "This is not what I planned—"

"Meet holiday Greg, plans are meant to be broken," he said as he stood tall flashing that boyish grin.

"That's terribly cliche."

"Yes… I'm gonna be your friend who drinks lager, not Bolli. I watch footie. Watch old terrible films with base humour, you might say. But…"

Her eyes slanted as she waited for what he'd say next, arms crossing across her chest.

"You can go on a hike with me. Get a beer. Can you do that with your other friends? Maybe boring is ok sometimes. Maybe I can be that for you."

She sighed, "You aren't boring… as such. We must admit there is an attraction there even if neither desires to culminate it again." _Useful lies,_ she thought. " And of course you're a detective inspector, and friends with Sherlock Holmes, of all people..."

"Yeah… I am friends with him, ain't I?"

"Yes…? You should know who your friends are, Gregory." She shook her head.

He turned his head to make sure her eyes looked into his. "You should too."

She shrugged slightly, fixing her smile. "Some parts of our lives must remain private… but I think we might be of use to each other at times."

"Sure thing, Irene. Good company is hard to find." He held out his hand, "Can we shake on it? No more oddness… or at least we can attempt so. No sex. Just mates. That's it. I promise."

She shook his hand, hard and fast as he did, and they dropped the grip at the same time as she turned to her mobile to summon a cab. 

-:-

They'd met up with some other member of the wedding party as they entered the lobby. The other men were less lecherous in their glances at her than Reggie, and she noted a couple that would be fun flirts. Greg will have a fun night without her. 

She wasn't as confident of her own night. The 1920's theme gaudy, even if on trend. And the numerous club hopping hints are more appropriate for women half their age. But Irene could be a good sport and of the women she saw today, one of them had to be interesting for a chat at least. Maybe even future clients. But the thought of work is oddly exhausting here. 

When they got to the room Greg crashed on the dusty blue velvet sofa, noting it wasn't as comfortable as he hoped as he shifted checking his mobile. They fell into two-word sentences and questions for a few minutes. Business. But it was too early to get dressed, she thought.

"Alright if I order some room service? " she offered, picking up the menu and thumbing through.

"I was just thinking the same thing. Any salmon?" he asked her, dropping his feet to the floor to make room for her to sit, and she sat at the end, leaning back on the arm of the sofa. 

"It's Scotland, Greg. Best salmon in the world outside Alaska. Would be remiss if they didn't."

"Probably salad then. Keep it light."

"Read my mind," she smiled, getting up and going to the phone, ordering them both salads with seared Salmon and returning to sit with him. 

They both relaxed in silence, checking their mobiles and chatting with friends, the hushed noise of traffic and breathing their own soundtrack.

His attention strayed from his mobile as her foot brushed his thigh, toes tracing an absent line as she stretched, seemingly unaware. But it was madness to think she did anything unawares, he thought to himself. Or was it? He dared a glance up, studying her under his eyebrows. Dark hair loose on the sides from her ponytail, no makeup but skin like cream, pink just on the cheek from the sun. Relaxed. Showed in her shoulders and her mouth hanging open slightly as her forehead knitted, reading something on her phone with intensity as her tongue sat easily between her teeth. A tingle in his chest too familiar and he wanted to rub it away. 

The text that buzzed in his hand and his eyes to shut tight. He opened them back up with a sigh.

**Having a good holiday with your** **girlfriend** **? Hope I'm not interrupting** **anything** **-** **SH**

**She's not my** **girlfriend** **.** He couldn't think of a witty retort, and Sherlock didn't need to know any other information.

**No? Shame. You two could celebrate the news that's about to pop up on your notifications.-** **SH**

Greg frowned and glanced up at Irene as the noise of both their mobile vibrating filled the room. He checked the information quickly but monitored her. 

**Caught him, little help from you or my brother. But no matter. Hope it makes your holiday more relaxing. See you soon!-** **SH**

Greg focused on Irene, searching for cracks of emotions in her face as he watched her read.

Her breath shuddered and his hand instinctively went to her leg to comfort her. 

"It's really over," she whispered with a huff.

"Yeah… it really is," Greg's lip rising at the corner in caution. "How are... you…"

She squared her shoulders, letting the tightness melt away with each breath. 

She lifted her face, meeting his eyes with her as she sighed with a smile. "Free, darling. As I always was meant to be."

He grinned back, "Glad for it. For many reasons." He patted her leg and stood. 

"My clients will be happy as well."

He paused in his steps to his suitcase, turning his head just to the side. "I'm sure they took a great personal risk placing their ... requests in your trust."

She settled more into the sofa, grounding herself, feeling the velvet across her bare shoulders. "Some were clueless but not some more… politically connected ones." She snickered to herself. 

"The things you could expose…" he chuckled dryly but shook away a deeper thought. " And... did expose—."

"Meant nothing if society wasn't so Puritan." She shrugged as she turned her head to look at him.

He nodded as he abandoned his path to the suitcase, sitting instead on the edge of the bed. "You're 100 percent correct there."

A silence fell between them again. Once more traffic sounds, a police siren rang in the distance and he looked toward it from instinct.

“Thank you.”

His head snapped back. “Hmm?”

She sat up but didn't turn to him. “I’m not saying it again.”

"OK then… ," he clicked his tongue. "It was the right thing to do, by the way. That’s all. I enjoy sleeping at night." He stared at the floor, gripping the edge of the duvet. 

"You know you’re too good to be true sometimes?" She said it with an airy laugh, and she meant it to lighten the mood. But somehow she couldn't hide the hint of sentimental in the tone at the end. 

He sensed it and pushed that awareness down. "Wonderful sentiment, but nobody's really good, Ba— Irene. At least in my experience." He wanted to call her 'baby doll'. Something about saying 'Irene' still felt formal. 

She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "Shame I couldn’t pull something more wicked out of you than just sex in your issued car."

He snickered as he stood, tapping a hand against his chest. “What you see is what you get. I’m too old to play anything else. And I do care about my career and my reputation, despite what being with friends with Sherlock implies. I think we share that, hmm?”

He met her gaze. 

What were they seeking behind these words, she wondered. But her concern lay in why she sought them and glanced down at her lap and away. "Common ground can be found in odd places, I agree."

He looked at his mobile. "Hope food gets here soon. Show time is approaching. Separate curtain calls for us tonight though."

She sat up, placing both feet on the floor. " You're out with friends. I'm the one playing a role."

He licked his lips, "Perhaps…"

Grabbing one of the complimentary hotel bottles on the table, he tossed it to her and then grabbed his own. "Better drink and hydrate… it's gonna be a gauntlet and I expect both of our parties to be steamin', as they say up here."

She leaned back into the sofa as she cracked open the water bottle, taking a quick sip. "Splendid that we're professionals then."

He grinned and raised his bottle in a cheer, and she mirrored it. "To a good time on someone else's quid."

She leaned forward, with a raised eyebrow and a growing grin creeping that he matched. "The best kind of good time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my co-writer Mouse9
> 
> Hotel is real and fancy. Arthur's seat is a beautiful place for a view. I've been to Edinburgh and I can say there is no prettier place when the sun is shining. Its a contrast from London.


	3. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene is invited to Em's hen party. What starts as an amusement turns into a long line of almosts.

Greg’s eyes roamed over Irene’s clothed form as she stood before the bath’s mirror applying her lipstick. The theme was Roaring Twenties and luckily she had the foresight to bring along something appropriate, just in case. The silver backless sheath minidress fit her like a glove, accenting her now dark hair. The tasseled fringe caught the light as they swayed, making her dress glimmer depending on the way she moved.

He’d already dressed, black slacks and a white button down, the first two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up. He knew he looked well enough, had caught her looking more than once through that same mirror, her eyes lingering on his thighs and the patch of tanned skin sprinkled with chest hair that was at the vee of the open buttons on his shirt. But her…

She was a dream, a dream he couldn’t have, not anymore. 

Blue eyes met his through the mirror and he knew he’d been caught. He wouldn’t apologize, she was a beautiful woman and she’d not allow an apology anyway. Best to move past.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to upstage the bride Irene.” He said, a hint of humor in his voice. One more swipe of red before she capped it and walked out of the bath. 

“Darling, I already upstaged the bride last night.” An equal amount of humor rested in her voice as she approached him. “Why stop now?”

“Please be nice.” Reggie was easy going but even he didn’t think the potential groom would be happy if Irene broke his bride to be.

Red lips curled into a smile. “Oh, I do love it when you beg.”

“Irene…”

She held up a hand in placation. “I promise to be on my best behavior.” Another mischievous smile. “Eleven drunk women in a hen party across Grassmarket. What could go wrong?”

Greg wisely chose not to answer that. Instead, he checked the time on his watch and moved to the door. “They should be waiting for us now.”

“You’re much too tense. You should really take advantage of the inevitable dancers the blokes have planned.” Blue eyes widened in mock surprise as they left the room. “Do let me know if there are any you’d think I’d like.”

“Irene…”

* * *

“OMG, you look so glam!” Emily gushed, her voice almost reaching a high pitch as Irene approached the group of women. Irene’s lips curved upward, eyeing the white flapper dress the bride-to-be wore. She’d even had her hair styled in the fashion and had completed the look with a large white art deco flower with a veil attached. Her maid of honor, a small blonde by the name of Anna, was fastening a sash on Emily that read “Bride to Be” in stylish pink lettering. 

“We have a bus outside waiting for us,” another woman whose name Irene had forgotten, to be honest, half of the women here were named after flowers, said, her voice echoing along the open lobby of the hotel. “We’ve about four or five bars to go through, so let’s all have fun!”

A chorus of cheer, screams and woops that made Irene want to roll her eyes erupted from the group of women and as one, the group left the lobby and headed to the bus. Their driver, who introduced himself as Rob, waited until the women were seated, the champagne opened and glasses passed around before he shut the doors and headed towards The Bon Vivant, their first stop. 

A place towards the back was dedicated to the party, with their own server. Plates of small nibbles and tapas were set up along the table as well as bottles of champagne resting elegantly in buckets of ice. 

Emily squealed in delight when she saw the set up, then began crying and hugging Anna.

“You guys, this is so fab!” her voice hiccuped and squeaked as she spoke. As one, a group of the bridesmaids gathered around her, all hugging and talking as one person as they tried to figure out who would sit where. Irene watched it all as one would view a social experiment. She chose the people she associated with through variables; before it was who would best serve her needs and, in the instance of Kate, dearest Kate, who she was able to place even an ounce of trust in. Trust, in her view, was foolish. Yet, now, she had people she considered trustworthy. Not many, but they had proven themselves. Ironically, both Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade were on that list. 

She took a seat towards the opposite end of the table. The bride, of course, should have the head. She wasn’t part of the wedding party, only here at the bride’s request. But the opposite end of the table had the advantage that she could look out at the entire bridal party and study them further. They were fascinating to watch, like brightly colored cockatiels that demand attention be paid.

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice was American. Irene looked up at the brunette in the deep blue flapper dress. Dark eyes that reminded her of melted chocolate gazed at her in question. Smiling, she waved a hand. 

“Please, be my guest.” 

The woman collapsed into the seat. 

“Thanks. Not sure my feet are going to make it through this. Haven’t worn heels in a long time.”

A glance across the table as the unknowing battle for the seats closest to the bride were won and the rest of the women took seats according to hierarchy. Then a glance back to the woman beside her, holding out her glass to the servers that were pouring champagne. The chatter of the women along the table made a comforting sort of background noise.

“Not a woman who needs to?” she asked. The brunette took a drink first. 

“I work construction back home.” She answered. “Not much need for heels when you’re on a site. Steel toes boots are more the fashion.”

Irene blinked, surprised. It was rare that anyone could surprise her like that anymore. A practiced eye quickly ran over the woman; she was fit, an outline of muscular tone could be seen in the arms, but it wasn’t distracting from her form. Her chestnut hair was shoulder length but styled in a sort of bob. Her manicure nails were the color of her dress. The woman was beautiful and seemed so easily to fit in with the others that Irene would have guessed she was old money as well.

The woman seemed to sense the surprise, or she was used to the surprise from others because she grinned widely, showing teeth. She extended out a hand towards Irene. “Samantha Mason, my mom is a huge fan of Sex in the City.”

The skin was soft, but Irene could feel the hint of calluses that had been scrubbed down during the obvious professional manicure the woman had done. “Irene Adler,”

“Oh, I know,” the smile hadn’t wavered. “You’re all Ems has talked about today. Your entrance last night as well as the Louboutin shoes that Ems has been coveting for the last month was the talk in the salon this morning. I think you’re her new favorite accessory.”

Irene snorted. “I'm no one’s accessory.”

Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Not even the silver fox you’re dating?”

“I’m his date, not his accessory.” 

Another laugh from Samantha. She picked off a clava brie beignet and a ham croquette before handing the plate over to Irene. “My friends call me Sammie.”

Irene took the plate, their fingers brushing at the exchange. “Are we friends?”

“Oh, I really hope we can be.”

Suddenly, this party seemed to be looking up.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet Emily?” Another drink of champagne. She would need to eat a bit more to keep the drink from going to her head too quickly. “Living across the pond aside, you’re right, you don’t really seem like the type of person that would have anything in common with the bride.”

“My dad is in the military. He specialized in a specific type of intelligence, so we were stationed in England for a few years. I met Ems while I was attending school there.” She popped a half of the croquette in her mouth and chewed. “She looks and acts like one of those shallow entitled trust fund girls, but she really is a loyal friend. Even after we moved back to the U.S., Ems and I kept in touch all these years”

She paused as the server came around to refill their glasses. 

“I don’t know half these other girls. I know Anna, she’s been friends with Ems longer than I have, but these other entitled girls?” She picked up her full glass and took a long drink. “I’m here for Ems.”

Suddenly the smell of Dior perfume filled her senses and a light, warm hand was placed on her shoulder. Ems face dropped in between her and Samantha’s conversation, happy and bubbly and a little drunk already.

“What are you talking about over here?” she asked, her voice already a bit slurred. “Budge up Sammie.”

Samantha moved her chair back and Ems plopped happily on her lap, grinning at both her and Irene. “So, what are you talking about.”

She seemed comfortable on Samantha’s lap and the conversation around them didn’t falter, didn’t stutter. This was a normal action for these women.

“How we met.” Samantha supplied the answer. Ems’ face brightened even more.

“Oh! I love this story. Did she tell you about how she looked? Poor thing had never worn a school uniform before then, she was proper confused. And that accent? So cute!”

Samantha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, her arms wrapped loosely around Ems’ waist to keep her from falling.

“She hadn’t gotten to that part of the story, no.” Irene answered, guinuinely amused at this woman. Samantha was correct, she looked like one of those stereotypical dull girls who only filled their heads with manicure appointments and yoga but there was something hidden just under the surface that begged to be released. For the first time in a while, Irene’s hand itched for the feel of a leather crop and a quiet place. She wanted to know more. “She was telling me stories of your time in the States.”

“OMG!” Ems squealed, and buried her face in Samantha’s neck. Irene’s eyebrow rose. This was interesting. “Sammie didn't tell her about my first trip to your job site. I was so embarrassed!”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention it until now.” Samantha teased. Ems pouted for a moment until someone else caught her attention. “What is Poppy saying? Oh!” She kissed Samantha’s cheek and gracefully slid off her lap. “Be good. Irene’s date is an old friend of Reggie’s.”

Samantha’s laugh was quiet. “Promise.”

Oh, this was interesting. She couldn’t wait to see what else she could peel away during this party.

* * *

Back o n the bus, with Rob already having to help several of the flower bridesmaids up the steps. Poppy, Lilly, Rose, Violet, Irene couldn’t remember the actual names of these women who hovered and giggled around Emily. They were already on their way past respectable tipsy, heading towards rich girl drunk and probably by the end of the night, would be full on into fall down, trying to shag everyone drunk. It fascinated her, this social need to lose control, lose one’s inhibitions, fall back on an aid so it was easier to say  _ the wine made me do it _ , rather than face up to the cold realization that they wanted to do it, alcohol was their excuse. Then again, she was one glass past her normal limit as well and would most likely be heading towards that rich girl drunk before the end of the evening. 

Beside her Sammie, took her arm. 

“Those killer heels make it hard to climb steps after one to many champagne cocktails.”

Irene smiled knowingly at her as she perfectly executed the wide stairs in her Louboutins. 

“Oh darling,” she purred. “It’s cute how you think two glasses of champagne is going to inhibit me.” 

Still, she took a seat towards the front of the bus and opened the ice chest for a sparkling water. 

“Come, sit next to me.” She patted the seat and with a grin, Sammie took the offered the seat.

“What’s next on the venue?” Irene asked, passing Sammie a bottle of water. 

“I think Anna has reservations at The Voodoo Rooms and The Permit Room, so one of those. I’m not sure what rotation we’re going in.”

The shouts from the back of the bus caught their attention and both women looked back. One of the women was drinking right out of a champagne bottle and dancing to the music playing over the bus’s speakers, one hand on the back of the seat in front of her so she didn’t fall. Sammie clucked her tongue.

“Poor Lily,” she sighed, and Irene turned her attention from the women in the back to the woman sitting beside her. “She’s not going to make it through this entire night. I’m willing to bet she passes out on the back of the bus before our last stop.”

“She can’t hold her alcohol? Or is she still living the Uni party girl life, rather than the 30 something she is now?”

“Not that she can’t, she’s just not used to it.” Sammie explained, the smile curving her lips up coquettishly. “Lily is from a pedigreed family. One of those with old connections, name and title but not really a lot of money. She had to make a good match, someone with money who needed her family's name in order to make a name for himself. She was married at 20, her parents arraigned everything. And she’s been living the picturesque life of a society wife ever since. One glass of chardonnay with lunch, a glass of red with dinner, no more than two flutes of champagne at any social function. Occasionally, mimosas for breakfast. She’s already past her limit because she knows Em and the others won’t judge her nor treat her cruelly.” 

Sammie’s gaze went from the women in the back, to Irene’s who was listening in rapt attention. “The reason I’ve stayed with these group of women is because, no matter how shallow they seem, or how locked into this society life they get, never once have they betrayed any bonds of their friendship. Over in the States, there’s all these reality television shows about rich women who are supposed to be friends, but in actuality they can’t stand each other and get off on backstabbing or piling one on each other. These women are the opposite of that. We’ve had our arguments, fights. I even tore out a bit of Hyacinth’s hair once in school.” She nods towards the auburn-haired woman sitting closest to them yet still in the back, watching the antics and laughing. 

“But when push came to shove, we’ve always had each other’s backs. That’s why I love these women.”

Irene was silent for a while. Sammie was right, it was easy to judge these women as shallow, unintelligent, sheltered. All of the stereotypes she hated but used to her benefit time and time again in the past. She was better than that, had trained to be better than that. To see past the illusions and to understand the person behind the mask. It was why she had been so good as what she did for a long time. 

She didn’t have those types of experiences in school but to admit that would be admitting to something she wasn’t comfortable with. She didn’t discuss her past with anyone, took pains to make sure it stayed hidden. Even when she was foolishly working with Jim, she made very sure he was never able to find anything of use to him regarding her past.

The bus slowed and a cheer went up in the back, breaking their conversation.

“Next stop ladies, The Voodoo Rooms.” Rob called as he opened the doors. Concierge was at the door, ready to escort the ladies from the bus and lead them to the reserved booths in the Ballroom. Irene held out a hand to their escort, enjoying how his eyes lingered on the edge of her dress, the curve of her hips, her legs. She liked it when men looked, it meant she had power over them for that small moment. Her red lips curved in a secretive smile as she murmured her thanks. Sammie was off next, tossing a thank you to the escort as she moved to stand beside Irene, waiting for the rest of the party to be helped off. 

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Em exclaimed as she hooked an arm around their escort, being led to the head of the crowd as they made their way into the pub. The other women clambered to follow, jockeying for position of next highest in the line and once again, they were back to social climbing, an ingrained trait they all seemed to share, unknowingly or not. 

The music and conversation was loud as they entered, heads turning from booths to watch the wedding party proceed through the front bar walk towards the back, where the larger rooms were. Irene slipped an arm into Sammie’s as she followed the group of women, hips swaying exaggeratedly. 

Sammie grinned. “You love making yourself the center of attention, don’t you?” she asked quietly as they walked. “The dinner last night, this walk to our spot?”

“Darling, what’s the use of having gifts if you refuse to use them?” she teased. “Their attention was already attracted by Em and her entourage entering, I’m merely taking advantage of a situation.”

The women were already taking their seats in the booths set up for them. Ice buckets filled with champagne were set to the side of the tables, ready to pour. The music was loud and on the floor people were already dancing to the band on stage.

OMG, this is brilliant” Em gushed as a glass was handed to her. Her voice was loud enough and the booths were settled close enough that the entire party could hear her when she shouted. Irene accepted a glass with a murmured thank you and took a sip. When setting up this night Anna had not skimped out on the good stuff, the champagne was excellent and expensive.

“So, tell me what you do?” Sammie asked. Her body was angled towards Irene’s, legs crossed towards her, leaning in. Irene took it all in, gaze lingering before reaching her eyes. 

“I’m…independently contracted.” She hedged. Sammie wrinkled her nose at the answer. 

“What does that even mean?”

“I…have a degree in psychology, and I work as a sex therapist.” Irene sipped at her drink, gaging Samantha’s reaction to her words. Dilated pupils, catch of breath…  _ interesting. Partly because the mention of sex produced a reaction and partly because the lie flowed so easily. Thank you Greg for that one.  _

“Really?” Now Irene could really tell she had Sammie’s attention. “What does that entail?”

She licked her lips and Irene’s own lips parted. Her gaze dropped to those wet lips, just for a moment, before returning to Samantha’s eyes. 

“Just what it sounds like, I sometimes talk people, couples mostly, through better communication by way of their sex life. A majority of people are inhibited by what they think is dirty or unnatural when in fact, kink is a perfectly normal and healthy way of discovering boundaries and what we like and dislike both sexually and in our everyday lives. If you can’t trust a person with your most intimate thoughts, can you trust them to take out the bins every week?”

Sammie laughed lightly. “There’s a difference between taking out the bins and telling someone you want to be spanked.

_ Fascinating that’s where she went.  _ “Not at all. Here’s the thing. Men are inherently trained by society to be lazy. Not when it comes to work or support and getting ahead, but in their personal lives. They are raised to expect that their partners are there to cater to them, just as their mothers were. Women or spouses who have to continually ask their men to do something time and time again. If I, as a partner, have to tell my male partner over and over to take out the bin, an act done every week that he knows is done every week and therefore should be ingrained in his mind by the third time of doing it, then how can I trust him to remember exactly how I like to be touched, or kissed? Men can remember when their bosses birthday is or the exact type of scotch a powerful client likes or even the exact date he has to have his Aston Martin taken in for a tune up. But he can’t remember something as simple as where the forks go or how to turn on a dishwasher or even what type of perfume his wife or girlfriend likes. Not the type of perfume he likes on her, mind you, the type she likes.”

She noticed that a couple of the women at their table were not paying attention to her. Not focused attention, but that type of attention where one is listening but trying not to look as if they’re listening.

Sammie as well was intently listening to her words, almost hypnotized. Irene had always relied on her ability to work a room, she was discovering that she could do it with her words as well as her body. 

“What about same sex couples?” One of the women, Violet, she thought, asked. The blond wasn’t even pretending to be coy about listening. Irene’s lips twisted at the thought of this petite blond sitting in an office with her. This flower had secrets and that past buried part of Irene itched to discover them.

“Studies have shown that for same sex couples, especially men, while there are still the inevitable bad habits at the beginning of the relationship, more than likely there is an equal part of the housework done between couple.” She smiled now. “I would think because men are more prone to complain if they feel as if they are being ill-used. The women are equal at sharing housework because they know the value of getting it finished quickly and correctly. While there may be a division of the labor, it’s still mostly equal.”

The rest of the table were no longer pretending as if they weren’t eavesdropping, she had a captive audience.

“The correlation between healthy and satisfying sex lives and the equality of the household is a straight line.” She finished with a small shrug and smile

“So,” Another blonde, whose name Irene didn’t know. “You’re saying that if my husband puts his socks in the dirty clothes bin instead of on the floor without me asking means that he’ll be better in the bedroom?”

“No. What I am saying is that if your husband continually and routinely puts his socks in the dirty clothing bin without having to be asked each and every time, then he’ll be more open to asking and remembering what you like in bed.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “If beds are your thing, that is.”

The women around her laughed, catching the attention of the women in the other booth.

“What’s going on?” 

And suddenly, the booth was too full, chairs moved to crowd in, women sitting close or on laps of friends, all interested in what Irene was talking about.

“Irene’s a sex therapist.”

“She’s telling us how men not being able to satisfy us is because they can’t be arsed to take out the bins.”

Irene couldn’t help the laugh that burst through. “Not quite like that but…”

“So how does one get one’s husband to  _ take out the bins _ ?” The blonde asked, her emphasis on the phrase clearly telling that was not what she meant. Irene took a long drink of her champagne, feeling much looser than she perhaps should. But when in Rome…

“Professionally, I would discuss it with both partners.” She answered slowly, her tone measured. “However, if this was a one on one session, I would suggest alternatives. Start with pointed suggestions. We as women cannot silently grimace when our partners place the bins in the wrong place and expect them to know. Men are notoriously uneducated when it comes to the body language of women. If the suggestion doesn’t work, you physically have him move the bins to their correct place.”

Anna reached out and took hold of the neck of the champagne bottle, refilling glasses, including Irene’s.

“Okay, enough subtext, we’re adults, we’ve all read  _ 50 Shades of Gray _ here, we can use our big girl words.” Putting the bottle back, she turned her attention to Irene. “How do we physically move him to where we want.”

“First, let’s not use that book as a correct guide to sex because it is incorrect and written by a woman who wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a flogger and a paddle. But we’ll return to that. When I suggest that you physically move him, I mean just that. If your partner is giving you oral and he is just not hitting the right places, either with his fingers or his tongue, and he is not taking direction, there is nothing wrong with grabbing some hair and moving his mouth to where you want it. Or taking him by the hand and showing how you want to be touched. Women who have women partners don’t have these problems.”

“Because we know what we like.” Sammie piped up. Irene looked at her fondly, moving her hand to rest just for a moment on the woman’s thigh before moving back to the table.

“Exactly. Not only do we know what we like or what turns us on, but we also know how to take direction. So female partners are not, on average, going to take offence if their partner says something isn’t working for them.” She shrugged. “Also, women can read non verbal cues so if their partner isn’t making any sort of positive noises, we are automatically going to try a different tactic because we want to please.”

“But what if, hypothetically, I don’t know what I want?” Violet asked, her body leaning into the table towards Irene from her seat at the edge of the table. This woman exuded desperation for knowledge and Irene felt that slash of pity for her, for all the women sitting here listening to her. Sammie had been correct, her words on the bus coming back to ring in Irene’s memory. There was a sisterhood here, one built from fear and desperation. They were all told what they were expected to do, and they had done it, but they all needed that escape, that safety net that came from a close-knit group of sisters. She had no doubt that husband complaining was a topic most widely discussed during Tuesday Mimosa brunch.

“Then, hypothetically, you begin reading. Not crap like  _ 50 Shades of Gray _ or male alpha romances, but real books designed to educate and titillate women.” Her audience was captive, all eyes on her, the few side conversations paused to listen to her words. “There are more books and articles at easy disposal designed to tell women how to give the perfect blow job. We, as women, know more about male genitals than we do our own.”

“Hang on, what is your problem with  _ 50 Shades _ ?” Lily, the woman who was drinking from the bottle on the bus, suddenly leaned in over the redhead, Poppy, she thought, to stare intently at Irene. She looked as if she was about to argue a point that she was convinced she was in the right of.

_ Oh, this should be a compelling study _ , Irene thought as she crossed her legs and picked up her now full flute.

“Sure, it’s all about a different sort of sex, but as a sex therapist you should be supportive of those sorts of things.” It was as if her argument lost steam towards the end and she was trying her best to rally.

_ Poor dove. _

“Those books were good and well…hot.” Lily continued. “It introduced women to a different lifestyle they may not have known about and gave them ideas on how to spice up their sex lives. How can you say that they’re crap?”

The silence seemed to permeate their little area, muffling the sound of the music behind where these ten women sat squished together around a small table, the anticipation of what Irene would say, almost a physical presence. She put her flute on the table, her gaze catching every woman around her.

“That book,” she began, “is written as if any one of you discovered the term BDSM in a romance novel, looked it up on the internet, read the Wikipedia page and decided to write a three-book series about it.” Irene smiled. “No offense to any of you. The acts in that book are not only dangerous but they aren’t legal. The contract the woman signs? Non-binding. Taking a virgin who’s probably never even been touched below the jumper and tossing her straight into a hard core BDSM relationship, not done. His possessive nature and blatant ignoring of her safe words? Not done at all she scoffed.

Her gaze focused on each woman as she spoke, and she could see the ones who were confused by her words as well as the ones who seemed to have done just a bit more research. “The first rule of any relationship like that is communication. You must know what your partner likes. Do they only like to be tied up and blindfolded, perhaps a light spanking? Perhaps they like leather play and handcuffs? Do both of you want a full dom/sub relationship that is 24/7 or is your play only in the bedroom or at specific times agreed upon by both parties. Is the person who is the dominant well versed in aftercare because a scene, as they’re called, can become emotionally intense. This isn’t a case of your partner getting his kicks and then rolling over to sleep, caring for a sub after you play can go on sometimes just as long as the scene itself did.”

Turning her focus back to Lily, who’d asked the question in the first place, Irene reached out, taking Lily’s hand.

“Let me give you an example, if you’re willing to play along?” she watched carefully as Lily nodded, the other women around her almost holding their breath now. With a smile meant to soothe, she began stroking Lily's palm with her fingers. 

“A dom would begin by asking permission, as I just did.” She said, her eyes still on Lily’s face. The woman's cheeks were flushed, and Irene wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the soft swiping movements she was doing. “Perhaps the person likes a soft with light spanking.” She tapped a finger in the middle of Lily’s palm, and she giggled nervously. “People don’t just wake up and think today I’d like to get clamped and have hot wax dripped on my privates. It’s a thing discussed and tried.” She alternated her stroking with light taps, still holding Lily’s hand lightly. Her fingers twitched occasionally, but she didn’t move away. “The woman in the book is forced to sign a contract before the man even allows an interaction and when she doesn’t sign at first or begins to question certain aspects of the contract, he uses persuasion and non consensual seduction on her until she agreed to abide by his rules.” Gradually, her taps become harder, using the tip of her nail to dig into the skin. Lily’s hand twitches but she still doesn’t pull away.

“Her first sexual encounter is not gentle, is tinged with violence as the male protagonist was not taught how to begin play. He was taught by a predator and by proxy has become a predator himself. The issue becomes that the woman doesn’t know any better. The only other men in her life are all men who want to possess her and the women in her life don’t understand. They only see the man as rich and handsome and therefore a great catch.”

Irene dug her thumb into the middle of Lily’s palm and pressed hard. The woman gasped and winced not expecting the sudden pressure. 

“Ouch, that hurts!” 

Immediately, Irene let go, her hands up by her shoulders. 

“Your next word would have been stop. Which means stop, unless you have a safe word. The woman in the book was given a safe word but it was often ignored, or she was chastised for using it, which takes away the actual reason for a safe word. The analogy goes back to the bins, if you can’t trust your partner to stop when you say, how will you trust him to have your needs his top priority.”

Lily rubbed her hand, eyeing Irene. Smiling Irene extended her hand towards Lily, an offering. The blonde eyed Irene, then her extended hand, then back to Irene. She placed her hand back in Irene’s. Irene smiled brightly at her and began massaging pressure points in Lily’s palm, a contrast to the sharp pain she’d just given the woman. 

“And that,” she concluded, extending her smile to the rest of the women, “is how a healthy BDSM relationship happens. Communication, limits and trust. Perhaps the next time I press too hard, Lily decides that it didn’t really hurt as much as she previously thought. Perhaps she asks for it next time or she allows me to try something else. She gave consent, I stopped when she said so and therefore, she now trusts me not to do it again.”

Finishing the hand massage, Irene let go of Lily’s hand. The woman pulled back, flexing her fingers.

The table was silent for a moment, a heartbeat of them all taking in the information.

“You learned all of this in your classes?” Ems asked, her voice breathy. Irene’s lips curled upward as she reached for her flute glass. 

“Some, but my previous occupation before sex therapy was dominatrix.”

The table erupted in delighted shrieks. Ems banged the table with her hand. 

“Wait, you didn’t  _ lead _ with that?”

“I find it is easier to discuss sex when people think you have a degree and a doctorate. Sex therapist sounds tamer than dominatrix . They also don't treat you like whore even if the work isn't that different.”

More delighted shrieks erupted from the table, drowning out the music from the stage. Ems raised her hand, waving down their server. 

“We’re going to need shots.” She announced. “I want juicy details.”

Irene chuckled, low and throaty as she drained her glass. “I can’t give names and places, my work before was…sensitive. But,” she continued over the playful  _ Boos _ of the table. “I can give generalities.”

* * *

The final place of the night, the Why Not Nightclub, where the deep bass of the music could be heard even before the women stumbled off the bus. Irene was past tipsy, but still a ways from truly pissed. She was one of the few women still able to walk a straight line as they made their way into the nightclub. 

It was packed, bodies moving in time with the hard beat, but the concierge led them to the reserved VIP section already set up with more champagne and a plateful of shots in multiple colors. A shout and a few whoops came from the women leading the line, with Ems and Anna heading it up. Per all of the other visits, Irene and Sammie were last in this line, the two most sober ones which wasn’t saying much.

“I will be so happy when I get back to the hotel room and I can take off these shoes.” Sammie grumbled, her voice barely heard over the loud music. Irene, who was close enough, smiled at her encouragingly. 

“Just the shoes? Oh darling, I can think of so many other things you could take off.” She purred. Sammie stumbled as they climbed the two steps leading to the VIP booths, her attention on Irene. Her gaze slid down the flapper style dress Irene wore, then back up pausing at her lips before reaching her eyes. 

“I bet you wear the heels to bed.” Was all she said as she slid into the booth. Irene slid in after, stopping only after her hip was touching the dark-haired woman’s. They’d been casually flirting all night and now, with the mix of alcohol and raw beat of the music, Irene could feel the urge to play rising. 

Greg wouldn’t play, there had been a tension between them, a tension neither she nor, it seemed, he, wanted to admit to. Briefly she wondered if he would say anything if she didn’t return to the hotel room until tomorrow morning. Did she care? Especially when there was a gorgeous American sitting beside her more than willing?

She picked up two shot glasses, both green, and handed one to Sammie. “Sometimes wearing heels to bed is the sexiest thing a woman can do.”

Clinking her shot glass against the one in Sammie’s hand, she tilted her head back and swallowed the contents, the alcohol warming her stomach. Beside her, Sammie did the same thing, then put the glass upside down on the table. Amused, Irene followed suit.

“Really?” Sammie shifted in the booth, her knees now touching Irene’s as she angled her body towards her. “I would think that it could be a little awkward. Shoes hitting against hips, trying to lock your ankles behind someone’s back.”

With a smile, Irene crossed her legs, resting one over Sammie’s closest leg, the press of skin a promise.

“Darling, the pain is worth the pleasure.” She pushed the sudden image of Greg handcuffed to his bed, back arched, pleasure flushed over his face as they had sex from her mind, focusing on Sammie. This was here and now. She’d learned to keep the past in the past long ago. 

Sammie’s cheeks flushed at the feel of bare skin resting on top of bare skin, a promise of what would come, but she remained where she was.

Around them the club was alive with people dancing, drinking, laughing. Closer to them, the wedding party was talking, dancing, flirting with some of the male patrons in the area, hangers on who saw ten drunk women in the VIP area and thought they could get free drinks, possibly some extras from the playful women. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, tension, sex and Irene and Sammie used that to their advantage. 

“Tell me what it’s like, being a dominatrix,” Sammie asked, under the table, her hand coming to rest on Irene’s thigh, fingers brushing against the hem of the dress. Irene grinned, she hadn’t taken this woman for an exhibitionist. “Is there always whips and chains involved?”

Irene laughed lightly, shifting her leg higher against Sammie’s leg, tucking it closer to her. Bypassing the subtleties of the hand on the thigh, she went boldly, as she always had, a red tipped finger landing on the woman’s throat and slowly sliding down the wide, bare expanse of skin. 

“Chains are only for the hard-core masochists. Whips…only if you ask nicely.”

Sammie swallowed, licked her lips and Irene wanted to chase the small bit of tongue, catch it between her teeth and tug. 

“So, what would you recommend? For a novice?”

Like the cat who got the cream, Irene moved closer, forcing Sammie’s hand further up her thigh, under the fabric of her dress now as her own finger caught against the low neckline of her dress, the swell of breasts under the pad of her finger. Irene’s finger dipped in then over, sliding against the satiny swell.

“There are plenty of other ways to torture a person, make them submit.” She leaned forward, lips beside Sammie’s ear, finger against her silk covered breast, the pebbled nipple hard under her finger. “I don’t need whips to make you beg for me, darling.”

Sammie’s stuttered breath symphonic to her ears, and she caught the woman’s earlobe with her teeth, her nail flicking hard against that stiff pebble. Sammie squirmed against her, breath coming in quick, hot pants.

“Sometimes submission is being required to sit in a packed club while a woman brings you to orgasm where anyone. Can. See.”

The whine in Sammie’s throat turned Irene on more than she already was. Sammie’s hand was still on her thigh, just sitting there and Irene was going to move it, make the woman rest her hands on the table while she delved underneath that skirt in search of the hot wetness she knew was there.

Suddenly she was bumped, and Irene tumbled into Sammie. Sammie’s hands flew upward, grabbing onto both the table and Irene’s waist.

“Did you know,” Ems’ perky and very drunk voice was saying behind her. “That in Uni I used to make out with a bunch of girls.”

Another one of the group giggled and Irene, moving from aroused to annoyed, pulled away from Sammie and turned her head to focus on Ems. 

“Most young women do. It gets them free drinks as it plays to the male fantasy and they want to experiment with someone they know they can trust.”

She was trying to be polite while at the same time trying to figure out how to herd Sammie to a darker part of the club to finish what she promised. Beside her, Ems reached over the table to take one of the shots still on the tray. She tilted it back and slammed the glass upside down on the table. 

On the other side, Sammie was straightening, pulling away and Irene knew the moment was over, wanted to scream in frustration.

“We had the best times, didn’t we girls?” 

Several of the women cheered as they waved their drinks around. Tiara now askew, Ems turned in the seat and grinned happily at Irene. “It’s my bridal shower. I think I should get a kiss. I want to see what it’s like with someone who did it for a living.”

She should be insulted, should excuse herself and find the loo and cool off for a minute. She’d drank too much tonight, the effects of the alcohol going to her head, her rational decision making hindered.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

‘Oh come on,” she bounced on the cushioned bench, bouncing everyone.

“I’ll be right back.” Sammie murmured, scooting out from the other side. She was up and away before Irene could stop her. Slowly, she turned her head, attention back at Ems, eyes narrowed, lips parted. The blond was still grinning, the drunken thought of making out with the sex therapist obviously sounding like a brilliant idea.

“It’ll be fun.” She concluded.

Unfolding herself, Irene turned her body towards the bride to be, the calculating, manipulative part of her wanting to make sure the woman felt it the next morning, not caring what anyone thought. 

She was randy, she was annoyed and that tiny part of her that was shouting  _ payback  _ would not be silenced. 

“Fine.” She said simply. Around them, the women squealed, and Ems clapped her hands. Leaning forward, she pursed her lips and closed her eyes.

_ Oh no…not that easy. _

Seductively, Irene leaned forward, hand up to stroke fingers against Em’s cheek. The woman’s eyes flew open, widened at the unexpected touch. Irene’s fingers slid down, towards her throat, her thumb catching on Ems’ full lower lip, dragging it down. She saw the woman swallow nervously, saw her eyes dilate, her lips part and she knew she had her. 

Irene leaned in, her tongue flicking out to swipe at that lower lip. Around them, the women had gone silent. Ems took in a sharp inhale and Irene followed, mouth covering hers, tongue diving in, tasting melon and vodka. She pulled Ems closer, hand resting on her side, thumb brushing the skin just under the lower ribcage. For a moment, Ems sat frozen, then she moved, her mouth opening wider under Irene’s, a hint of a sigh that only they could hear passed between them. Tongues tangle, teeth nipped, and Irene drank in Ems faux bravery, crumbling to an easy submission until her kiss. 

Irene let her hand fall from Ems’ waist, pulled away from the kiss, looked at the woman as she struggled to open heavy lidded eyes. The area was silent still, the sudden cat call from two drunk men behind the group who’d caught part of the performance breaking the mood. 

The women moved, a few giggling awkwardly unsure of what they’d just witnessed. Anna and Lily began talking loudly about something inane, suggesting they all go back to the dance floor. Beside her Ems was still breathing heavily, her lips still parted in silent delight. 

Anna grabbed her arm and Ems allowed herself to be pulled away from the booth, towards the dance floor. 

Irene sat there, alone. She’d missed her change with a wonderful woman, someone who was willing and so expressive and had just snogged the bride to be. If the groom found out, this might not end well.

“Bugger.” She reached out, snagged another shot and tilted it back. “Here’s to a great night.”

* * *

The party bus returned to the hotel a little after 2 am with all the women in that quiet, calmer and in some cases, asleep stage. The rowdy bus of women from a mere seven hours before had turned into a quiet night. In the back of the bus there was quiet talking, of the women still awake and coherent enough to chat. The bride to be was asleep on Sammie’s lap so there was no time for quiet conversation. 

Irene laid her head against the window of the bus, lost in thought. She’d lost control tonight, something she never did. Had sworn since she’d been a teen that she would never do again. This life, this sedentary holding pattern she found herself in, it wasn’t her. She needed the excitement, the rush of power that came from being in charge. 

When she’d left England those few years ago, and made her way in Italy, she still had her position, she was just careful with how she presented herself, what she did. Falling into another madman’s trap only to be used as bait because she got cocky was not a road she wanted to go down again. One only gets so lucky to have Sherlock Holmes owe you a favour once, she wouldn’t dare for another.

Behind her, the bridesmaids had circled the wagons, to use an Americanism. She’d taken it too far this evening. Even if Ems pushed, she could have said no, could have just given her the small peck on the lips she was expecting. But Irene, aroused and not happy about being, well, vagina blocked, had turned her ire upon a woman who wasn’t expecting it and rightfully the other women were nervous. 

Sammie had returned, sat beside her, but anything that had been building over the evening was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke. And that was Irene’s fault as well. Again, she’d gotten cocky. 

Or…

_ Oh dearest, we all make the mistake of giving our hearts away some time. _ Stella’s words surfaced in her mind, haunting her. 

Those damn flowers exactly like she had in her home the one time he visited. A perfect detail of what she liked. Why couldn’t she have said no when he asked for a favor? No, she had to prove something to herself. _ Foolish _ . She was being foolish with this entire thing. She needed to leave, to break everything off, she pondered as the alcohol turned clear logict to fuzzy emotion.

_ When we get back _ , she decided.  _ I’ll leave when we get back, cut ties, change my number, disappear again. _

“Final stop, ladies!” Rob, their driver called out, sounding as cheery as he did when they all first boarded the bus. “Hydrate,  paracetamol and get some sleep.”

Being closest to the door, Irene was up and out of the bus first, her heels clicking against the ground, still turning heads of the few men still in the lobby of the hotel as she entered and passed by. She didn’t turn back, didn’t look around. Her focus was her hotel room where she could wash off the makeup, climb into bed and get some sleep. The ache in her feet from the heels only gave her a pain to focus on instead of the aching feeling in her chest. 

Leaving the lift, she made her way down the hallway to their room and slid the keycard against the lock on the second try. 

Stepping in, she tucked the card back into the small bag she had and paused.

Greg was in the room.  _ Damn him _ . Trousers unbuttoned and hung low on his frame, shirtless. His silver hair was mussed and his eyes were a little red rimmed. 

Still drunk as well.

The way he turned as she stepped in, his dark eyes sliding down her frame as if devouring her in his mind, made her stomach tighten up in arousal. 

“Hey Irene,” he said, his voice a little slurred as he turned back to the task of folding up his shirt. “Party over already?”

She lifted a foot, pulling off the high heels and tossing them towards her own bag, a little to the right of where Greg stood. She smiled as he followed the arc from the corner of his eye. The other one followed and she sighed in relief at the feel of bare feet against plush carpet. Reaching behind her, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to her feet. She could feel his gaze on her now and she reveled in it. 

“I’m tired.” She stepped over the dress and crossed the room. She knew the sight she made, gold thong knickers, matching demi bra, bare legs crossing the room. She wanted to make him ache, to make him think about her. She needed that control right now.

Greg tilted his head, studying her as she approached. She could almost feel his gaze touching her as she approached, tangible, like a warm hand, his warm hands. His teeth caught his lower lip pulling the flesh through and she wanted to reach up, bite that lip and tug. 

“Beds that way.” He tilted his head towards the bed and she smiled, her lips curling up in a knowing smirk. 

“Why Greg, are you asking?”

His own lips quirked up, matching hers. 

“Not asking anything. You said you were tired. I'm not the bed.”

“You could be,” she gave in, touched a fingernail to his chest, much like she did to Sammie earlier. A small frown crossed her brow as she pushed that thought away. “Given the right conditions.”

Greg inhaled, she could feel the rise of his chest under her fingertip, then let it out slowly, shakily. 

“We’re not doing this Irene.” He said, “We’re both drunk and you know we’ll regret it tomorrow. Immensely.”

“What fun is life if you can’t break the rules?” her lower lip extended into a pout, her body almost brushing against his. His trousers were tented, and she felt that rush of power. “Don’t think Greg, just do. You know you want me.”

In a whirl, she was herded towards the closed door of the bath, her back pressed against the hardwood. Greg’s hands slammed against the door on either side of her and that arousal flamed higher in her. He was metres away from her lips, close enough that all she needed to do was lean forward just an inch and they could be kissing. 

“I do.” He admitted, sounding suddenly sober. “That’s the dodgy part. You’re standing here in underwear designed to be ripped off and I want to Irene, dear God I want to.” His breath ghosted over her face smelling of mint and aged whisky. “But that’s not why we're here. That’s not what I want, not what you want. And you know it.”

She frowned. “How do you know what I want? How have you ever known what I want?”

Greg smiled. “I just do, baby doll.”

He hadn’t used that name since they parted ways and Irene hadn’t realized it would still skip her heart. She inhaled sharply, feeling out of sorts, as flat footed as she assumed Samantha had felt once Irene had ramped up the seduction. Greg moved a hand and the door opened behind her, knocking her off balance. Irene stumbled backwards, feet landing on cold tile, waking her up enough to realize what she’d almost don e. 

The smile on Greg’s face was gone, replaced with a weariness she’d never seen. 

“Wash up Irene. Pyjamas on the hook on the back of the door. Then sleep. We both need sleep.”

He closed the door, and shame rushed over her. Again, she’d done almost the same damn thing, seduction to prove a point to have the power. Only for it to amount to nothing

A small hiccup slipped from her lips and she tightened them, turning on the taps in the shower. 

She stripped naked and stepped into the steaming water, letting that evening and the shame of what she had almost done- twice, wash away.

* * *

Greg was in bed, asleep, when she left the lavatory. Crossing the room, she turned off the small bedside lamp and slid in under the covers. 

Hydrated, medicine taken, now sleep. 

_ When we get back, I’ll leave _ . Monaco is always full of fools ready to part with their money for her. 

With that thought, she fell asleep, the sound of Greg’s soft snores and the warmth of his body lulling her away.


	4. Years and Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning brings up old demons and new challenges. And a wedding on top of all of it.

_ "Oh, Darling Irene…" _

__

_ She moved her head back but his hand snapped up to her jaw, grabbing the back of her head, cocking the hammer on a pistol pulled from his pocket, and shoving it against her temple. She cursed, letting down her guard. She dared not struggle now that he got the jump on her.  _

__

_ "I could put a bullet right through that oh so pretty skull" He drawled it out in his half affected accent words tripping on an untalented and dull tongue. It made her sad to think someone as inept as him could be who killed her in the end. _

__

_ Desperate breaths threatened her control. She swallowed hard and calmed them to nothing. Her eyes met his.  _

_ "You can do anything you set your mind to, right?" _

__

_ "Yes." _

__

_ "They entrusted you with the legacy of Moriarty, no?" _

__

_ He gulped. He wasn't entrusted with shit, she thought. _

__

_ "And yet I live. But you're aware he wanted me dead." _

__

_ He whispered, "And here I can complete that job." _

__

_ "Ah," she drawled out the word slowly with a pout. "But someone prevented it. Someone you know is on your heels, don't you?"  _

__

_ "And you can help with that?" _

__

_ "No." _

__

_ BANG! _

She shot up from her deep slumber, screaming, blood pulling in her ears, muffling like the fired bullet that missed her that day. But it didn’t miss her in her mind tonight. The pressure of the cold steel turned red hot against her temple, still burned there and across her brain in a blinding headache. 

Her breath refused to calm, oxygen starved lungs burning and her teeth chattering in her clenched mouth. 

"Irene…" A man's voice echoed far away, like another room. Images blurred behind her eyes, mixing the hotel room with that empty room that day. 

"Baby doll…" louder now and closer as she wrapped her arms around her knees and the pulse in her head eased.

"You're ok, baby doll. Irene, listen to me and breathe... just breathe. In and out, " he whispered, so close with a cool gentle hand on her shoulder tingling against her sweat sticky skin. 

He repeated "Shh" until her mouth unclenched. 

The scream pierced his deep slumber and brought him to alert in an instant. His hand reached for his service weapon, though it wasn't there. City lights. Late hour punctuated by her heaved breathing. All filtered through the windows cast her in grey shadows; they forgot to close the curtains. He sensed only panic as he shifted closer, hearing her teeth like a rattle, whimpers instead of words.

He'd risked touching her shoulder, feeling the tiny beads of sweat on her skin cooling under his fingers. It was a dream, and he needed to guide her out of it. 

Her hair plastered against her forehead and face and he raised a hand to pull it back. Soon as his fingers touched her fingers, she struck out. But he countered and gripped her wrists firm as he shifted in front of her. 

"Irene, it's me. It's Greg. I'm here. You're OK. Hey… you're OK."

The rest of that other room faded into this blue gray one. His dark eyes found hers and she stared. The terror in her ice-blue eyes, shining in the faint light, struck him and he wanted to do nothing else but pull her in his arms tight until her breathing eased.

But he stayed planted in front of her and she wriggled her wrists to let him know to let her go and he obliged as he sat back on his legs.

"I… it was a dream… that's all." Fear from the dream quickly replaced by another and she swallowed hard with shut eyes. She couldn't decide what was worse now, the altered vision of her past or the aftermath. 

He whispered, "I'm sorry… you wanna ta—"

"No… no, I don't." 

"Fair," he said, lifting a cautious hand to push her hair away from her face. She let him this time, hiding her trembling hands between her legs. 

He got up without a word, stepped away more into the dark and came back with a water bottle he bumped against her knee. She looked at it but couldn’t make herself take it. 

"Drink. It's the hangover kicking in... that's all." He put it in her hands and waited in silence. He wanted to know everything. What scared her to a scream in the night. But he knew whatever it was couldn't be scarier to her than a moment of vulnerability. So he didn't press.

She took a sip, and then drank deeply, pushing the burn in her throat away. 

"You ready to lay back down?"

She nodded again, setting the water on the side and praying that the throb in her head would ease. 

They would both just forget this all in the morning, she hoped. But her breath caught in her throat. His fingers on her once more, rubbing her head, light circles nearing her temple like the night before everything changed.

"What the hell are you doing?" she murmured. 

He sighed. "Shut up. You relaxed… and you went to sleep last time I did this."

"It's really not appropriate—"

"Quiet, just let me help you for once. It's what friends do."

And she shut her thoughts away in one of the many rooms in her mind stuffed full. One more confusion to add to the pile as she drifted back off to a dreamless sleep.

Morning light slammed into the room unfairly bright and yellow. Parched throat, she glanced to her right and found a fresh water bottle set there. She heard the shower shut off as she rubbed her eyes and face.

He emerged just in pants but ignored her sitting up and staring.

"So I just got a text from Reggie," he said, much too matter-of-fact as he took clothes out of the cupboard "Seems…"

She squinted at the light as he turned to her and he chuckled, "Someone had fun last night."

Memories rushed like a dam broken in her mind, blurring between lips she desired to kiss and those she actually experienced and… yes, another moment best left not discussed.

"OH God… I'm such a cliche." She groaned.

"Snogging with the bride? That's the best man's role." He said with a frown but it turned up in a grin. That grin he gave her before so many other devilish acts they'd pushed the other into. She met his stare and hated how something beyond the fading booze flipped her stomach. 

She managed a smile as she grabbed the water bottle. "I'm in trouble?"

"He just said he wanted to talk... I think it's hilarious."

"Really?"

He sat at her feet on the bed, slipping on his trousers. "Alcohol does funny things to people. Sometimes they make the right mistakes."

His dark eyes met hers, lidded and guarded. 

In their stares, they speak about last night without words. Him pressing her against the door, her goading him to it. But with a sigh, she put words instead to her earlier mistake. 

"We kissed, and she wanted more. If I hadn't been pissed, I wouldn't have indulged her," She sniffed. "She'll still marry him today. I… Well, I was a dalliance. Trust me, I've snogged plenty a  _ straight  _ girl. Only in my youth did I take it for more than it was."

He patted her leg. "Well... I say everyone had fun and no need to get worked up, but we'll…" His voice trailed off as his mobile rang. 

He answered with a gulp as he glanced at her and stood.

"Hey Reg — Yeah no I'm getting dre — look hey HEY I was drunk too, so it's slow going — Hey I'm coming over just — I'm hanging up — See you a minute." 

He tapped and ended the call with a grunt.

She sunk into her pillows. "Apparently someone doesn't think it's all in good fun."

"Well... he can go to hell. He's done worse. Maybe I need to go remind him." Greg threw his head back hand on hips, taking a deep breath. 

She huffed hard as she folded her arms, "They always blame me. But I promise she came onto me and asked for a demonstration. I was… yeah... just know I wasn’t trying to pull her… at all."

Her head suddenly ached more, and she rubbed her temples with closed eyes. 

He buttoned his shirt in haste. " I believe you… Was there anyone else?"

She smiled, looking to the side. "I wanted to end the evening with another woman named Sammie… guess I didn't get my wish. Even though I'm much more sure of her inclinations."

He smirked and bit his bottom lip. "That pretty American brunette in the group? You do have good taste. Now I know not to chat her up now." Finishing tucking his shirt and grabbing shoes, slipping them on as he headed for the door "Order some breakfast for yourself."

"Sure they aren't kicking us out?" she asked, picking up her mobile. 

He laughed out, "No. I'm a number they need. Appearances are everything you know in this sort of crowd. The show must go on!" He puffed his chest out and snickered and she joined, shaking her head. 

"We'll put on a helluva one then," She bit her lip, and he mirrored it. 

He grabbed the door, and glanced back with that grin, "That's my girl." and he was gone.

-:-

In truth, he had no bloody idea how to untangle this mess. His empty, raw stomach yelled at him as he reached Reggie's door.

"Time to make some magic happen," he whispered to himself as he knocked.

Reggie pulled the door open fast. The two men stared for a moment, and Reggie motioned for Greg to enter. He slowly walked in, searching the room. 

"It's a helluva thing, Greg,"

"Ok… OK, I'm sure."

"What did you bring with you here?"

"She's my… friend and yeah, she's a bit of a... free spirit?" The words didn’t taste good in his mouth, but his brain was working at half capacity. 

"Seducing my almost wife is hardly just free spirited."

Greg nodded. "Ah… so that's what Emily told you?"

Reggie glared. "Yes, it is. Your friend used her while drunk, asking her to do all sorts of things."

"And did she do them? My friend was in my bed last night. Your bride didn't join us."

Reggie only scowled and Greg shrugged.

"No matter… ask Emily again who started what. I know my friend. And yes, she does love women. But alcohol makes fools of us all."

Reggie sniffed and huffed. "I know now she is a lady that whips people for their jollies."

Greg swallowed before he began. "Yeah, she does. It's called work. I put handcuffs on everyone, it's just not something I do for a fee or pleasure… well, mostly." He shrugged with a grin but dropped it at Reggie's glare.

Greg huffed. "Let me ask you this, why did Emily volunteer that information? Make you jealous? What does it benefit her?"

"She's a good woman, forthcoming." Reggie sighed. 

"As is mine. And she told me it was Emily who came on to her, asked her for the kiss. Perhaps the conversation should go the other way then since she is my… date."

Reggie scoffed, "Em? She's not—"

"Oh Reg, people are many things," Greg shook his head slow. "Get to know your wife a bit more before you start lobbing accusations. In fact… let's get her in here."

Reggie frowned. "Excuse me? The wedding day tradition—"

"Can go to hell. You started this. Let's get the facts so we can move on with our day, eh?" Greg grinned.

Reggie stared, but when his shoulders fell, Greg knew he'd won. 

"Fine."

Reggie messaged Em and within a minute, there was a knock on the door.

Fresh faced in a long robe, and her hair in curlers a Hermès scarf she sported a sheepish look. 

Greg bowed his head, "Emily, nice to see you on your wedding day."

She stammered "I… what..."

"We are discussing Irene" Greg watched her avert her eyes before she started huffing. 

"She… she came on to me and really this the kind of guest—"

"So what if she did?" Greg said, folding his arms across his chest.

Reggie licked his lips as he sat down hard on the bed's edge. "Well…"

Greg asked with a clear voice. "If she did, which I believe she didn't, why didn't you reject her?"

Em shrugged as she squinted at both men. "She was very persuasive, and I was drunk and—"

Greg snickered. "So was she. So perhaps… maybe things aren't so black and white?"

"She told us what she is so of course she knows how to dominate a situation." Em folded her arms as she jutted her chin

"She does. But as I relayed to him, that's work. Pleasure brings a different side out to her," Greg said, matching her chin.

"Em… I just need you to be honest" Reggie's voice low and Greg sensed irritation underneath the calm.    
  


Em groaned, throwing her arms up. "If you'll both shut up, my head is still aching. So… yes! I kissed her. She's pretty and talked about sexy things." She shifted to Reggie's side, sitting and grabbing his hand. " I made a mistake Reg I'm so sorry baby sweetie please forgive me?"

"We'll discuss it in detail later, but we got an event to do." Reggie sighed through his nose, rubbing his forehead.

"You still want to... marry me?" Em pouted and to Greg, it looked rehearsed. As if she and Reg played this game before. 

The whole exchange was irritating, Greg thought. Em didn't need to apologize that much. 

Reg puffed his chest out and glanced at Greg before looking back at Em. "Of course it's just kissing another woman... We'll see who knows…," he smirked at Greg, "Maybe it's something we can look at employing Miss Adler for—"

Greg shook his head. "Sorry mate, not quite. Different work that. Find someone in the swingers clubs, eh?"

"Shame really," Reggie shook his head, as if he delighted in the thought a bit too long for Greg's taste. " But yes Em it'll take time, but I see no reason I can't find myself to forgive you."

Greg moved to the door and paused at it, looking back at them over his shoulder. "You two need to be honest with each other. You had your hands all over the stripper last night, Reg. You're both even right now."

Em's jaw dropped, and Reggie patted her hand, not looking at her. 

"Yes… yes… fine. We'll call it a misunderstanding and move on. Beautiful weather for a wedding after all."

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Greg said with a snicker as he walked out the door.

-:-

"I ordered you food too," Greg heard from the lavatory along with the shower shutting as he entered the room. 

"Thanks," he yelled back as he flopped onto the bed.

His eyes shut, pushing away the obscenely bright for Scotland sunlight. He heard the door open as she accepted their breakfast and wheeled the cart to the sofa herself. Her bare foot tapped his inner calf, and he squinted at her.

The ache in his chest sat like a stone, pinning him to the bed. Framed by window light, white robe and that dark hair wet hanging in a light natural wave. It's not the glamorous Irene he would miss when they went their separate ways. He'd lost this Irene before him, and this tortured him the most. His morning angel, fresh faced and forgiven fully for anything the night brought forth. A wrinkled dress shirt draped on her, buttons scandalously undone except to keep it from fluttering off, she'd meet his lips before she'd run off with it and his heart. She could keep each one she took for all he cared. He didn't want them anymore without her in them.

In a better world, they'd both be passed out asleep, entwined. The image so close and yet so far from this reality. He struggled as he leaned up. She turned and sat heavy on the sofa, ignoring him as she worked on her plate of food. 

"So how did it go?"

"Hmm?" His thoughts on what he wished was happening, he hadn't understood her question. 

"With Reggie and…" Her eyebrow rose as she took a bite of crumpet. 

"Fine."

"Only... fine?"

He shrugged as he rose, joining her on the sofa with a slump. "Yeah… yeah, I just made them talk."

"Hmm."

He stopped as he poured his coffee. "What?"

"You tattled on him… that's only fair. Wedding seems to be going forward, nonetheless." She leaned back, sipping her tea. 

"She asked him to forgive her."

Irene sighed with a grimace. "Typical… well, I judged her correctly then."

"You assumed you'd have that big of an effect?" Greg said, realizing too late a bitterness seeped into the words.

Irene sat stiff, still looking forward much too long for his comfort. Her voice low when she spoke. "Contrary to public opinion. Not everything is a scheme or a game with me. Some things are— "

He couldn't endure that tone. "I'm sorry… it is what it is… right?"

"Always."

He let the air hang heavy. It had a habit of clearing itself when he did. 

She sipped her tea finally. "Late breakfast, then wedding prep, correct?"

"Yeah, they wanna do all the photos before," he sighed but smiled. "Reception should be fun though."

"Don't worry, our arrangement stands. I'll only have eyes for you." She patted his arm as she sat her tea down.

Nothing in her tone was ironic, and yet that bitter taste returned to his mouth. He kept the words trapped in his head instead as they both turned their attention to their mobile. 

-:-

He cut a handsome figure in an afternoon wedding suit. Irene straightened his cravat reflexively as she passed him on the way to the mirror, prepping to finish her makeup.

The morning was odd. Mixed silence from both. But she expected nothing less, considering her behavior. 

Soon as he put on his jacket, he said he was headed down for photos and was gone.

She ignored the heaviness in her chest in the much too quiet room. He'd zipped up her dress without their usual lingering. Not even a playful gesture or inappropriate flirt. 

It's exactly as she wanted, she reminded herself. Whatever they were, they were much better as casual friends. 

She'd wanted to have sex with anyone is what she told herself about last night. Alcohol does that. It wasn't about him or Sammie or Em or any of them. Just a biological need unfulfilled. She owed them all for the favour. 

A crisp dark red lip. The dress bodice only made of dark lace with a satin green skirt. A hint of her more revealing reception costume change. Hair perfectly coiffed. She shouldn't care now. The third act already foreshadowed.

She was seated at the wedding, alone and on the groom's side. Beautiful trellises of white and pink roses fragrant made for the scene. If the couple were in love, it would be heavenly. But it still held the superficial beauty she appreciated.

As the priest spoke, her thoughts wandered. First to judging guests, including his ex. A much too easy target, she thought. But beyond, as the words entranced her into deeper musings. 

So many weddings. So few she didn't see the same people with another pairing within a few years. Same vows, same flowers. Same pretty and on trend dress. Same hard seats to shift in quietly as your backside grew numb. 

Her eyes turned to the couple, and they matched it all. Same story told a million times. She wondered if there was a betting pool how long they lasted. 

How did Greg look so many years ago at the altar, she wondered. Young and unfettered by a lived life, standing asking that woman for forever and getting nowhere near it. 

Now a man with experience. One who held the same cynical view as she to this event. But she glanced over and his face betrayed them both. Earnestly clear he listened to the words of the priest and couple sharing words with wistful happiness. 

And it struck her odd. Especially since he knew better. 

_ But that’s it. _ Hopeless romantic. Explained why she's still here with him. That he just can't give up. All the more reason to move on after this weekend, she reminded herself. 

She'd been there before. A childhood friend she'd kissed her in secret for years. But her girl left for Uni and the arms of another person as if it meant nothing. Earnest affection unrequited, not foreign to her. It sat like a stone in her forever. She built around it until she could take all forms of romance or, more importantly, leave it. 

But he didn’t work like that. He saw years where she saw days. She couldn't contemplate a way out of hurting him now. But as she stared at him standing there listening in all sincerity, she couldn't fit the puzzle piece in no matter how many ways she turned it. The piece that told her why she even cared. 

The music started, and she stood with everyone else, flexing out muscles that turned stiff. She smiled at Em who averted her eyes away. Sammie winked, which Irene returned. 

When Greg strolled by her down the aisle, he didn't glance her way, chatting instead with one of the flower named women on his arm. Who was it...oh yes, Lily… she remembered her palm in her grasp. She stared unblinking until they disappeared into another part of the garden with the rest of the wedding party. Only when Irene realized that she forgot to breathe did she notice the voice of an usher guiding her from the ceremony. It was nothing. It was only that they walked by fast, she assumed. Or he knew she wouldn't have returned his glance. But she couldn't shake a nagging irritation sneaking into her thoughts. 

_ But no _ ...now was not the time, and she shook it off as she headed to the room to prepare for the reception. One more act of this shambles of a play. Then she could run away and think unencumbered thoughts again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters left... wow. Still time left in the weekend for so much to happen.


	5. I wish you wouldn't kiss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding continues with the reception. Memories, music and champagne make for a heady brew.

The champagne pop greeted him at the door. 

Greg’s hand at his cravat, pulling it loose and away. 

Irene already changed into her evening dress, offered with a side grin as she poured them both full of flute full. Lace head to toe now, scandalous bits of skin exposed he’d have teased in a different time. As he admired he noted them. 

He took the glass without a word, letting his eyes travel the dress’s lines and her curves, not caring how languid and inappropriate. It’s her favourite practice, and she still allowed him the luxury. She didn’t wear the dresses to not be admired and desired.

“To the party and to the ruse,” she whispered, raising her drink. 

“To the ruse.” he clinked the glasses connecting with her gaze.

“You enjoy the wedding?” He sipped, studying her reaction over the glass. 

She shrugged as she smoothed her skirt on the way to the sofa. “It’s a wedding, no one enjoys them”

“Yeah… I guess so.”

She sat with care, leg perfectly placed against the other as she leaned back, “You did though, didn’t you?”

He chuckled as he walked to the sofa and joined her. “I’m a romantic.”

“But you know them… you know what they are like,” she rolled her eyes as she smirked. 

He shrugged, shifting his glass from hand to hand as he slipped off his jacket, tossing it across the room. “Yeah… but the words were still said. They have something that keeps them together.”

She shifted, leaning back and putting her legs up to lounge back. “Probably a few million pounds is my guess”

“Well... the words of the priest, though. Good things to work on.” He let his hand rest near her ankle. 

She stretched her back as she shrugged. “I didn’t really hear them”

His thumb found her ankle, beginning tiny absent swirls, holding her stare. “Hmm... so you were staring at me the whole time then?”

“I’m sorry what?” she huffed, ignoring his caresses. 

His lips lifted into a side grin, "I saw. I thought  _ eyes only for me _ were just when it had to be?" 

They both stared, and his thumb turned the pressure into an achingly slow massage, his thumbnail sliding across the bone.

“Are you attempting to tease me? Perhaps you weren’t looking at the priest but at… oh what is her name, yes, a flower.” She dropped his gaze to feign an exaggerated pout, but met it again with a sly smile.

“Lily. You only had eyes for her as you walked down the aisle.”

He licked his lips. “She is a delightful woman. Very easy going, I’d say.”

“She likes a bit of control, just a hint.” Irene's teeth scraped her bottom lip as she leaned up. 

He nodded, “Oh... we know that. And here I thought just Sammie and Em got a taste of the real Irene.” His thumbnail scraped feather light along the back of her ankle, up her calf, and she decided enough of that and dropped her legs to sit. 

“She pressed the issue, and I had to give more evidence for my argument.”

“I know,”

Her eyebrow rose as she set her glass on the table. “You know?”

He nodded. “She told me about the hand example... How did it go?”

She put her hand out. He glanced at it and back to her gaze.

Irene sighed through her nose, unsure why he missed the direction. “I asked her if she wanted to play a game”

“Ok… I do.” But he kept his  hand on the sofa between them. She’s the dom here, he mused.

She lifted his hand roughly, “I let her know a dom will test to see what the sub likes.”

“You do this at parties?”

She grinned, half lidded, “It is a special kind of parlour trick.”

“And here I wasted all that time flipping coins in a pint.”

“We all make mistakes, darling.”

She’d been running her thumbnail along his palm, and he ignored the tickling effect. 

“What would you do next?”

She changed it to tapping her finger lightly on his palm. “I test to see what they’d tolerate. Like a light spanking.”

He gave a half grin, but no reaction from his hand. The realisation of the intimacy washed over her. Could she make him beg for her? A delicious way to start the evening, breaking a man she never accomplished the feat in totality with yet. 

She pulled his thumb to his palm and held it. “Or light bondage”

He licked his lips, and she knew that sparked the correct memory. She expected resistance; he tugged at his handcuffs so many times. But his eyes only glanced at his hand and back up, holding her stare instead. His pupils dilated, stirred a memory for her too. 

“And then?”

She smiled with an open mouth. “I then talked about the dom in the book, not listening to her needs, her wants. And to safe words when pain increased.” Irene glanced at his hand like a tell.

Her nail dug in his palm, expecting a similar reaction to Lily, but he refused to flinch. She met his gaze and dug harder. But he only smiled. Much too softly. The skin breaking soon if she kept going. 

And she relented, dropping his hand.

“Well... it went something like that.” She huffed and stood.

“Why'd you stop?”

“Because you don’t know when to say stop.” Her glare met his stare, seeking any sign of awareness of what he did but his stare earnest as always. 

He only offered a lopsided grin. “I’m real bad at that game, I guess. Anyway, I’m gonna get changed. See you there?”

She picked up her clutch, heading out the door without another word.

-:-

The reception already started. She found their table and set her clutch on the table by her name with care as she walked around to see the other names. 

Unfamiliar to her thankfully and she sat alone, checking her mobile. As her eyes looked up, she caught Sammie as she and the bridesmaids entered. But something in her glance back at Irene spoke about how the night before ended rather than when it began.

She spied Greg slip in wearing a light grey suit, and he made his way to her quickly in time to cheer with the other guests who joined them at the table. Entered Emily and Reggie, smiles and grins beaming to their guests.

They share a love of attention; she thought to herself as they sat for the rest of typical particulars of the weddings, and long winded personal speeches between appetisers and dinner. She noted a small emphasis on “working at their relationship strengthens them” and her eyeballs took a peek at her brain at the sentiment. Greg only sighed at her side, his hand resting easily on her knee. 

General chatter concerning the food and flowers with the others at the table, one couple known to Greg. Peter and Henry Martin. She enjoyed the comfort level another gay couple brought, and she and Greg chatted with them through dinner. She forgot last night and what tomorrow meant for the moment, rubbing Greg’s hand sitting on the table under hers absently. They fell into the habit so effortlessly, but she attributed to their personalities, not any lingering extraordinary affection. Both sensory and touch driven after all. It’s why the sex had worked so well. Shame they couldn’t keep that out of the rest of their lives, she lamented. 

The DJ started up the music from the bridge and groom and wedding party. Greg and Irene joined in on the last one. But tension from earlier returned in their nearness and she sighed in relief when two men called Greg over after one dance and she returned to the table alone. A couple notifications caught her attention on her mobile, but she looked up in his direction as her mind turned. 

He looked handsome in that suit, shades of grey, white and dark in a whole package. Two buttons undone on the shirt, revealing that tan chest. His laughter spread across the room and she smirked to herself until a voice she’d avoided now broke her concentration.

“Well, it’s nice for you to get out of your dungeon out here with normal people.”

“Did you plan that line this entire time?” Irene smiled at his ex-wife, “So clever.”

His ex stared blank-faced and Irene continued.

“You see… people like this...” Irene gestured with her hand to the room, “They come to me. Because people like you, well…” she cocked her head mocking pout, “You provided a different abuse I just don’t get into. Quite sad, but there might be a market you should look into it.”

His ex sat with a huff, splashing a drop of champagne from her glass. Irene glared at the indignation. She’d bought it and considered it rude. 

“You’re a whore… not matter what you dress like or who you associate with—”

“We’re all whores for something,” Irene sighed and snickered. “It’s all about the price. Some of us... just aren’t smart enough to ask for the highest amount.” 

The ex scoffed.

Irene leaned back, crossing her legs with care as she smoothed her skirt down. “This dress? Five thousand pounds. Sexy number, right? The ring is vintage and priceless.” Irene placed her  hand on the table near his ex’s and she studied as the woman’s eyes followed the movement and gulped as she looked back at Irene. 

“This hair and this lipstick? Money really works. I want things, I get them. That’s what I do,” Irene shrugged with a smile. “Greg isn’t about money. I don’t need it because I’ve got plenty. But Oh…” Irene put on an exaggerated pitying smile. “You are darling. Hint though, you could spend your entire bank account and these people will never respect you. Best to invest it somewhere more lucrative.”

His ex shook her head. “These are dear friends… something foreign to you—”

“Aww, adorable… It’s fun sitting here with someone intent on insulting me, and the banter has potential to swing toward something sexy. I like good enemies to lovers but Greg assured me you don’t play both sides of the court and well… he’s my date and despite your assumptions, I am respectful of that.”

His ex leaned back, sipping her wine. “Snogging the bride then—”

Ireen rolled her eyes. “She asked for it. Should always place the initial blame where it lies. He thought it was all rather amusing, though I feel the hangover headache oddly coming back…” Irene lifted her hand from the table to her temple. “I assume that is it, of course... Might be something else,” Irene glared, though her lips stayed in a tight smile. 

His ex took a sip from her glass and shrugged. “You understand I have a right for concern.”

“No… I think perhaps we forfeit such rights when we break someone’s trust.”

She snickered, “You snogged —”

“I’m sorry, are you jealous?” Irene squinted as she grinned. “Anyway… so much free advice for you today, darling. See, an adult relationship… a real one... is based on communication, all kinds of course. Greg and I are adults. We set the rules before we moved forward. We have to be honest, otherwise we only sabotage ourselves. Honesty is my business,” Irene said. She studied the ex in silence until she noted the tic in her face that informed too much. She began again without a smile, “Pain is parallel with pleasure for some. It’s healthy to know the angle of your lines. You should try it sometime.”

His ex shrugged,  biting her lower lip, “Perhaps he does like pain I mean… he loves you.”

Irene froze over. Her emotions are untrustworthy now, but she could control this conversation and her countenance.  _ Bite back with something. Anything. _ But all her energy funnelled into not letting the words ring in her ears like an alarm bell. But her heartbeat threatened to betray her again. 

His ex’s smile grew with every word. “Oh, nothing to say now? Yes, he is in love with you… I should know, right?”

Irene glanced down and away with a shrug, “Perhaps?”

“You’re supposed to know people well, hmm?” His ex snickered. “Well, if this is a surprise, then the whole room is a hell of a lot smarter than you.”

Irene’s glare snapped back. “I will not discuss private—”

She put up her hands, like a sign of peace to Irene. “Hey… I don’t like you and you don’t like me, ok? So why would I say this if it wasn’t... obvious?

“People aren’t usually so conspicuous—”

“That man… always has been. Ruins the fun, surprised you find it interesting.”

Irene offered a wide grin with squinted eyes. “Well! This has been enlightening, but your date’s looking so lonely and sad over there at the children’s table, it’s hard when they’re that young. Best wishes the rest of your time here, I do believe the DJ is returning from his break and conversation may be harder to conduct sadly.”

His ex rolled her eyes but smirked at Irene as Greg cut a look in their direction. The concern is readable across the room. Irene pulled a smile at him and waved.

The ex stood and leaned over to whisper at Irene as the music started. “I wonder why me saying he is in love with you seemed to make you speechless if you two are as you said communicating so well… huh.” With that she leaned up and Irene resisted every impulse to slip a foot between her knees and make her next move her face on the floor. It wouldn’t look good, she reminded herself, and let her leave the table with an icy stare instead. 

His eyes steady on her, she sensed them burning as he was at her side and in front of her. She closed her eyes to avoid any concern. She didn’t have any time to process the validity of all those words before his lips captured hers.

All part of the act, she reminded herself. Desperately she pushed that thought forward. But the kiss lingered, the room disappearing as his hand covered the whole back of her skull, unrelenting and stirring an ache in her chest, oxygen starved as they parted just enough to breathe. 

She spied out of the corner of her eyes across the room a smug look on his ex’s face. And bemusement on others. Sammie stared with a half smirk as he kissed her lips again. 

Greg spoke, “Perhaps it’s too much…” his bottom lips caressing along hers. He moved away when she trembled. 

He’d wanted to do that for hours. Now he had the excuse.  _ But what a mistake, _ he thought. Everything rushed back as if nothing had happened. And he’s afraid she read him too well. 

Eyes half lidded, searching and both gulp. Old emotions stirred up like dust. She only noticed her shiver when he released his hold of her head. 

“You alright?”

She dropped her gaze, whispering, “Always.”

He pulled the chair behind him to sit on. 

She stretched out her shoulder and neck; the muscles tightening to an ache. “I know how to handle women like her.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a whip here,” he teased, his hand finding her knee. 

She glanced down at his thumb, seeking her skin under the weaving of lace. She turned her eyes back up, “She into that?”

“Didn’t  used to be not that I wanted to think about her, yeah never bring that up again,” he shuddered and grimaced.

A  tiny  musing inside her delighted he appeared disgusted by the idea of his ex in that way.

“So…” his finger traced the flower pattern just above her knee and her eyes followed its languid pace, “What did you talk about?”

“Me being a whore,” she sighed.

“Baby doll, you’re not a whore or anything like that. You know that right?”

She looked up and held his concerned stare, “And you know technically I am”

“Then I’m a whore for the Metropolitan Police. I—”

She held up a hand, stopping his words. “But... I gave her some solid free advice. Really should charge for my life experience.”

“You’d make an excellent motivational speaker, Irene. But for now, be a wonderful dancer for me, eh?”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor, with the other hand at her waist.

The DJ shifted the sound down. 

“Let’s slow it down for the couples. A classic,” The DJ announced in the silence. 

“I’m sure his idea of a classic will be from the 90s,” she smirked as she stood still holding his hand. 

“The 90s were alright don’t be a snob,” Greg grinned at her, moving her hand to the small of her back when the song started. 

That voice. Not just any Whitney Houston song. They both drew a hard breath, knowing what song now, and cursed the cliche in their heads.

But neither said a word. 

Greg swallowed hard and looked away over her, pulling her in tighter with his hand lower on back. Every feeling stinging inside that he’d done a damn good time holding down swelled right in his chest.

“Time goes too fast, I fear,” She joked, swaying at his lead.

“Yeah, it does.”

She shook her head, “My meaning being that this song is a classic now.”  _ Such a weak deflection _ , she mused. 

“Maybe? But some things are instantly so.”

“Oh... so they transcend time then?”

“Yes… sometimes it’s just… a universal experience.”

She frowned deeply. “It is a rather sad song for a wedding.”

“That’s for the bride and groom to say something,” he shrugged. “Might be a bit too on the nose for how most of his relationships have been. Hope she got a prenup.”

Irene’s giggle grew from her throat.

And he sought her eyes as she leaned up to whisper, “She assured the entire group last night she did.”

He snickered with her, “Maybe she’s smarter than I thought.”

Irene shrugged. “Women often are”

Her tone revealed too much as the song shifted and they both stared, unblinking. 

His eyes said it all.  Always did, veiled behind that grin. But he conceded it openly now. How much did he want to kiss her again? Every moment of every day here resisting unless it was for show and once more overwhelmed him as he stared down at her perfect red lips. When he risked a glance back up, his breath caught in his chest. Those stunning ice-blue eyes speaking multitudes in them. 

Aware she should keep talking and force the mood to lighten, but the song made it impossible, and she indulged the atmosphere it created. Universal, as he said. And yet so specific that her heart stayed in her throat as he held her stare. They can’t just be friends, she thought. And it was just as much her fault as his. 

“It will look more authentic if I place my head on your chest,” she eked out, unsure what would happen if they didn’t release the stare of the other. A terrible mixture of cold and warm flowing in her veins. 

“Yeah… yeah, let’s make ’em jealous, baby doll.”

She closed her eyes as he pulled her against him, arms wrapped around her waist, and she did the same. That name. So stupid, really. One of the dumbest pet names she’s ever been called. Unfair how much she liked it. A safe word in the chaos of her musings every time. 

His heartbeat betrayed him in her ear. The closest they’d been in a while. Sure, he’d resigned himself to whatever their friendship would be. But the pain took his breath again as the song faded away. The reality of after this weekend washed over him. This really was it. A softer goodbye than before. A quiet sweetness aiding them to do the right thing. 

Neither pulled from the other as the music shifted, upbeat.

“I think a fresh bottle of the champagne—”

He dropped his arms and turned to rub his eyes quickly on his sleeve. “Yeah, I’ll get one.”

He grabbed one as a group of the friends brought out photo albums and called Greg over. Irene hung back, but he pushed her forward with him, his thumb pressing into her spine, ignoring her initial resistance. 

So she joined in, drinking and listening to old stories as if nothing was a lie. So easy to do with him, laughing at his jokes. No falsehood required. She genuinely enjoyed his company after all, and the bubbly made it easier. 

He’d been the boy scout as she suspected. The worst he did was date one man in the group, Peter, who was attending with his husband Henry. Something settled in her confirming Greg’s sexuality and explained the comfort they’d had. She sat by Henry and chatted, both being outsiders in this scenario. 

Peter flipped to a new page, “So that was Greg in third year.”

She leaned over and studied the photo, fixated on the boyish face, and dark hair flopped, threatening to block his eyes. But that grin, fresh as always. Hard to see the difference, though perhaps a little unfettered in those days. 

“That charm. That’s why I fell for you instead of money for once that summer,” Peter said with feigned exaggerations.

His husband scoffed, “Oh, so you only married me for money?”

“Darling…” Peter patted Henry’s chest. 

Irene focused on Greg’s face. At ease, lost in memories, but it shifted.

“I think Peter realised quickly he needed both,” Greg sighed. “Charm and beauty fade. Money lasts.”

Irene moved the photo album aside, “Don’t  sell yourself short . Some men age like wine.”

Peter nodded, and his husband did too. “You were a cute boy, but age has only improved. I mean, if you ever want to…”

Greg shook his head with a slight grin at Peter. “Leave summers to their season…” and he side glanced in Irene’s direction, dropping the grin. “We’re well into autumn these days. And winter comes next.”

The poetry of his words washed over Irene. Sadness dripping like a London rain from his lowered voice at the end. 

Melancholy seeping in and tightened his chest. He downed his glass before speaking got him  in trouble . 

“Enough reminiscing with old lovers, I might get jealous,” Irene sighed as she stood with a smile pouring more champagne into his glass across the table. “Also, I haven’t slept with anyone here, so it’s an unfair advantage. Now I know you have two at least notched in your belt.”

“But you got a taste of the bride we heard,” Peter offered with a popped tongue. 

She held a straight face while pouring more champagne and lifting her flute just above her lip as she met Peter’s eyes.

“Just a little too much alcohol and girl to girl friendliness.”

“I’m not gonna be a bitch I said to myself, didn’t I, Harry?... But yes, no judgement dear. We had our suspicions anyway. Nice to have someone outside the group confirm it for us.” He smirked, an eyebrow raised at Irene as he leaned back.

“Really?” Greg frowned, leaning in.

But Irene’s eyes cut across the room to Sammie, sitting alone nursing her own bottle of champagne. Her lips down-turned as she brought the bottle up to drain the last drop. A tiny ache worked its way in Irene’s chest. Not for herself and the missed opportunity with a gorgeous woman. But for Sammie’s heart, so clearly given away.

Men don’t get that, this wistful aching love of another woman. 

But she’d seen a similar look from Greg this weekend, standing on top of the world, and he couldn’t look at it instead of her. Every temptation and vista laid before him, and he only gazed upon her. 

She read it across his face, every line in it singing and his eyes declaring as they danced. He said the words and goodbye as well. Problem was, she hated it, but not for the reasons she required. 

She finished her champagne with one gulp. 

“Another DI?” she asked as she stood, stepping around the other couple. She trailed a finger along Greg’s shoulders as she leaned down by his ear. “I paid for all these bottles. It’s within my rights.”

He turned his head back, and his short cropped hair brushed her cheek, sparking a tactile memory. 

“What d’you say, Baby Doll.” He murmured back, saying that name. 

“Let's get drunk until nothing matters, DI.” No one in the room was looking at them, but she whispered it in his ear, and placed a grazing kiss right below while her nails stretched along the base of his scalp. The hitch in his breath delighted her, a learned sound she’d missed and mused on as she walked away. 

She returned with two bottles. 

-:-

“I need to take off this dress,” she sighed.

“This suit too,” he chuckled.

They’d drank both those bottles after too much before. Old pet names rolled off their tongues like water flowing freely. More dancing and hands resting against bare skin. How many places in her dress, his fingers discovered. How many lidded stares. But when the lights of the lobby blinded them as they walked to the lift, everything burned away. 

Hand in hand for illusion only, and on the lift she dropped it without a word. But she laughed as they leaned against its walls and he laughed too. A shared moment in the ridiculousness of everything. 

The walk to the room treacherous, and she nearly fell when her heel caught a snag in the carpet. 

His arm went out  in instinct, catching her at the waist tight and fast. 

“Thanks,” She said with a snicker. His arm stayed wrapped, and they stared.  _ One more time _ the question stumbling across their minds but slid away just as quickly. 

“Walking is hard though when the room’s spinning,” he sighed and glided them to the door and barely got the key slid right. “Morning is gonna to suck.”

“Water, darling. I’ll get us some.” She went in before him with care. The dark room, lit only by the city lights, tilted but she recovered and it settled.

Walking by the table, she grabbed water. He oofed as she tossed a bottle, striking his stomach. She cracked hers open and downed half of it.

He took sips.

“Close your eyes, I’m going to change.” he said as he brushed past her. 

“Why… I’ve seen it all,” she said with a huff, drinking her water, staring at him boldly through the dark. 

“Fine” he slurred as he slipped his jacket off. The moment blurred as he unbuttoned his shirt, seeing him bare chested once more. How did they do it now she wondered? But only tonight and she would be free. They’d go their separate ways. 

“It’s not smart to do this when we're so drunk,” he said as he shook his head slowly and she ignored the compulsion to stop movement with her fingers biting into his jawline.

“Mmm... it’s the best time for nothing to happen, remember? Undo my zipper for me.” She turned and waited, expecting a clumsier version than anything in the past.

But she realised her mistake too late in the haze of alcohol rushing in her blood to her head. He slipped out the main pin in the back of her hair, letting it fall. He paused a breath before his hand moved the hair across her shoulders. She forgot to breathe. His fingers traced down her back with the dress just enough pressure, achingly so, as if he were sober as he unzipped her. The fire ran up her spine and she shivered as his lips neared her ear.

“Please don’t ask me to do that again,” and he was gone.

She sat on the bed with a thud and avoided watching him undress further. He flopped on the bed and in the low light she could see he only was wearing his pants. But she stood and shimmied her dress off. She stepped to hang it up but resigned to sling it across a chair. The air on her bare chest was a relief but chilling and she quickly found the bed, wrapping herself under the duvet.

He chuckled, and it turned into full laughter.

“What are you laughing at?”

He coughed. Could he say it?  _ Hell… why not?  _ “This… us… everything… yeah. nevermind.”

“Perhaps we should put on clothes.” she mumbled into the pillow.

He huffed. “What does it matter… what kind of friends do we make, anyway.”

_ So there it is.  _ She realised she’d let him say it instead of her, no matter how many times it ran across her thoughts and stopped at her tongue. Her cowardice shamed her for the moment in the haze of inebriation. 

“So you’re  on the same page ...”

“Thought I was good with this… and I am. Just… I’ll miss you. I wanted to say that.” He wanted to say so much more. That he… but that didn’t matter. Prescient before he even asked her to join this scheme. 

“They always do” she murmured, and he caught something sad in the tone. But he couldn’t read into it.

“I’m sure.” 

He rolled over off his back and found her facing him, distant across the king-size mattress but enough to read her furrowed brow, her eyes shining through the low light.  _ While we’re being honest... _

“What if I asked if I could kiss you?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment. “What if I say no?” 

Greg shrugged, “Easy. Then I won’t kiss you. ”

She licked her lips, much too dry still from wine.

“And what if I say yes?” 

She watched the wheels turn in his mind, lubricated by too much booze. They shouldn’t be talking like this. 

“I’d want to. Real bad. But I’d still not kiss you because we’re both too drunk… and this isn’t us anymore.” He sighed deep from his chest. He liked her games, but whatever this one was couldn’t end well. 

“So what if I kiss you?” she whispered. 

Unsure why she said  it out loud. Maybe she just wanted any kind of sex. Alcohol does that. But it was a unique experiment, and she tried something honest for once.  _ What could one more time hurt? _ She waited for his answer.

He swallowed hard and licked his lips. “I should stop you.” 

The words struck her, and she held his gaze. “Should? Or do you mean will?” 

His voice sober. Resolute. “Should. Because you know I’d never be able to stop you from anything you want from me.”

“I… I—”

“Go to sleep, Irene. Let’s just regret the booze only in the morning.” With that, he turned over. 

Soon she heard his breath slow. 

_ Too late _ , she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next to last chapter! SO much going on feel free to yell at me hahaha.
> 
> title of chapter from song When You Kiss Me by Megs Duval. super mood for Greg if you wanna listen to it.


	6. They didn't say it like I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last day of the holiday and hangovers aren't the only regrets. But the weekend has taught them both a lot. What will it mean for them?

They forgot to close the curtains again.

The morning light, deep grey across the room, diffused but consistent enough to make out shapes. Her headache slammed in. And the cold. 

She’d fallen asleep naked. Which she’s not sure what it said about her or him. She shivered, trying to pull the duvet just barely and slowly but his arm wrapped around, gripping it tight. She kept her eyes closed, listening to his breathing. Silent, deep sleep as she counted the measure.

She knew what she wanted. And it was practical, she argued with herself. The hour too early to wake and he clearly unrelenting the duvet in his slumber. She moved, reaching out a hand a few centimetres. Waiting before she shifted her hips. This repeated until she crossed the great divide of the large mattress and sensed the heat radiating off his skin. But she needed more. 

He grunted as she stirred, lifting the duvet. She removed the remaining distance, allowing his arm to fall over her. Success. She snuggled down against his chest. Her headache was dull and steady, but at least the chill eased the stabbing ache. A thought passed through her mind if he woke up to find her like this. She didn’t want to think about the excuses yet.

Trouble was, he was awake, believing her to be asleep if not fitfully so. Was another nightmare creeping in her slumber? He prepared if this was the case. 

Her movements roused him, tugging at the cover, but he couldn’t relent. Otherwise, his fake sleeping acting would be for naught. She turned, and he shifted his arm over her as if he were only adjusting the duvet. She closed the distance. Her head rested against his chest and the rest of her body followed down the line of his.

He desperately controlled his breathing and pulse. Her skin cool against his. Soon she settled and his muscles relaxed, melting into a comfortable closeness.

What would a few hours bring? Would she act like it was nothing? Would she slip away? It was an early habit of hers. No handcuffs to keep him here now. He’d feign sleep, though. A small gift to her. But God, this was too right, their bare skin touching after so much push and pull this weekend. He soaked in every sensation and sound. Her soft breathing lulled him back into his own easy slumber.

And when he woke, he savoured the closeness. Today the reckoning and end of whatever they had. They’d at least half agreed to that last night. And yet here they were, once more outside that boundary they’d set for themselves. They were both terrible at keeping rules.

He stared at her, mapping every line in the morning light, as he finished pulling out pins she’d left in as they passed out in their drunken state. A gentle manoeuvring of her hair out of her face. 

The pain sitting heavy in his chest urged him to slip from her, tucking the surrounding duvet to keep her warm. He’d miss her, but she was right. He was right. Winter on its way, he thought as he looked at the deep grey rainy morning, ignoring the blur of wetness across his eyes. 

-:-

The light shifted across her face, a cloud crossing across the misty sky. Her headache is still dull. She laid unmoving, eyes barely open as her mind adjusted. It is Sunday. She needs to pack. Was there another event on this train wreck? She pushed her memories through the ache in her head like swimming upstream. The weather made her wish they could stay one more day so she could sleep it all off. 

She turned to the side, snuggling down into the duvet, spying a shadow move from the cupboard to the sofa. 

A dark suit paired with a dark shirt. It reminded her of someone… _Oh yes. Let’s not think of him, it will make the headache worse._

Her nose filled with his clean cologne drifting across the room, freshly applied. Moss and the sea. She thought of them laughing and running along the park at Arthur’s Seat, and how light it all felt then. Her eyes shut as everything slammed into the front of her mind.

Perhaps it didn’t happen. Surely they separated in their sleep before waking, she hoped. But she could tell she hadn’t shifted, she was laying in his place on the bed. 

The panic crept in her throat and she swallowed slow and hard.

But this is over. He knows this is it, they’d said it without saying it. But it wasn’t anything anyway, she reminded herself.

He tied his shoes quietly. It was the small things. He’d dressed in the lavatory. He sat in the dark here while she slept. Courtesy a lost art to most men. He never failed in it.

She shut her eyes tighter as he approached the bedside to sit. 

He leaned down and whispered, “Irene… you awake?”

She mumbled. But her mind keenly alert.

“There’s the breakfast meetup this morning, well brunch I guess… You’d have to get up now if you wanna go.”

She murmured. “Is it ok if I skip it? Need to pack.”

He nodded. “Yeah... yeah no, that’s fine. I mean, it’s probably still…” he shrugged. 

She dared a half lidded glance at him. 

“I’m not afraid of being awkward, but I’m your guest. No reason for me to cause anymore scenes. The curtain falls today anyway.” she said as she shifted her pillow under her head.

He sighed. “You were just you, darling. I don’t care what they think. You’re my… my… yeah.” 

“I’ll order myself something nice. Besides hangovers demand somewhat of a duvet day usually.”

The corner of his lip upturned, “Long as you aren’t moping then… ok, I’ll go on and finish this.” He sniffed. “Not sure I’ll talk to them after this, anyway.”

She lifted her face with a frown."Hmm? But… you’ve known them—"

“My ex can have them.”

“They weren’t all that bad, Greg. Emily is a bit fluffy in the head but a great… well, yes. Some gentlemen were delightful conversation.”

He ran his tongue across his teeth as he half smirked. “Reggie?”

“Oh, he can go hang.”

They chuckled softly together.

He sighed, “Maybe… maybe I’m just —”

“Hungover. We all are,” she offered. 

He smiled. “Irene Adler, the reasonable voice here?”

“Yes, shocking, right? Advice, darling. One always keeps the connections they can. They’re useful sometimes.” 

He licked his lips. “So we should keep each other’s name in the mobile then?”

She couldn’t look at him after those words. An oppressive feeling in her chest rendered her mute as well.

“Yeah…” he sighed. “Get a bit of extra lie-in for me, eh?” 

She allowed a small smile to escape, and he matched it, leaning over planting a gentle lingering kiss on her forehead. “Got some pain med in my bag if you need it. See ya in a bit before your flight. I’ll text so we can say… goodbye, I guess.”

And he stood and walked out without more conversation while she let the word _goodbye_ ring in her ears.

-:-

He kicked himself all the way down to the buffet set up, thankful for strong black coffee. He downed one mug and refilled before filling a plate with everything a hangover required. 

Two long tables filled the room, and he found a spot facing Peter and Gary Martin again. They made for easy chatting and a solid distance from his ex. Being down here without Irene a relief in a way. 

“How’s Irene this morning?” Gary asked. 

“Having a little lie-in before we go back to London.”

Peter said, taking a bite of toast. “Too much champagne does that. Well, send her my love. A delightful woman, how did you ever catch her? She’s—”

“Above my pay grade?”

Peter shook his head. “Not in the looks department, but she is a bit posh for you.”

“It’s a funny story, really.”

Greg leaned over, staring down at his coffee mug, “I was on a stakeout at a bar called 1920. I was sitting there nursing some cheap American lager. And I glanced to the back of the room.’

He sat back in his chair, a soft smile creeping on his lips. “Blonde hair… I know, hard to imagine now, I suppose. Leather short skirt. Top hanging off her shoulder just enough. Those red soled heels. Casual cool and I said why not?” Greg stared off wistfully. That image of her burned into his mind. He’d leave out the rest of that night.

Peter sighed, “Louboutins... such class.”

Greg snickered, “So yeah, I knew who she was. She knew who I was. Our first meeting, technically. And we were both just the right kind of bored and pissed.”

“Usually those don’t keep going though, that’s absolutely sweet that it turned into something else.”

“Yeah… something else. We really were.”

“Were?”

Greg coughed, sitting up, folding his arms across his chest, “Are… I mean we were then too. Just reminiscing, that’s all.”

Peter nodded and started another subject with Gary. And Greg turned back to silence, listening to the surrounding conversation, and a server set a flute of champagne in front of him. He presumed for more speeches. He’d grown tired of them all suddenly and wished desperately to be under the duvet with Irene. 

Her name. It drifted down from the other table, said by someone else, and he focused in. 

“So beyond her snogging the bride, she told everyone she was a dominatrix.”

“What, really? Oh, that’s a sticky wicket with Greg being a Detective Inspector.”

“That’s not all, I dug a bit around her name and” Greg strained, but Peter’s laughing filled his ears.

When it stopped, he found the voices again, near the bride and groom, and he read their lips and saw their nods. 

“But I mean, he’s dating a sex worker. A sex worker?! That’s mad.”

Greg stood up fast, taking his fork and tapping on the glass. 

“I got something to say,” Greg lifted the flute up, letting the room settle and turned his attention to Reg and Em.

“Congratulations to the couple, I’m sure you’ll be your own kind of special happy.” He raised his drink to the bride and groom, and his eyes tracked down to a group around them. “And to some of you…” he licked his lips and grinned. “You can all get bent.”

Gasps, loudest from Peter, but he noticed a snicker of his ex.

He glanced at the shocked face from Sammie. 

“When I went to Uni, I didn’t come from money but I worked hard and got the scholarship anyway and yeah, you accepted me. But I didn’t have the pony. Or Porsche 911 rotting in a garage. And I was dumb enough for a minute to think I could hang... but I’ll always be that kid. Even now.”

“Look, Greg —” Reg started.

“Oh, shut it. And you know what I can take it, roll on…” He shrugged, but his glare turned to steel as his eyes scanned down the tables. “But then you all brought her into it.”

One groomsman scoffed. “Well, she is — “

“Someone you’ll keep out of your mouths.” Greg’s glare diminished the groomsmen, and he sat back.

Peter snickered but censored it quickly as the room fell in a heavy hush.

“Understood?” Greg said, his grin cocked as he gave each person he suspected of a hard look. 

With that, he sat down and set back to finishing his breakfast, breathing in a sharp sigh.

“So—”

“Shut Up, Peter.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter offered a small salute, pursed his lip and grinned knowingly at Henry, who returned it. 

-:-

She took up his offer of pain medicine and the combination with some oatmeal set her right. 

Irene paused at the flash and buzz from her mobile.

Sammie.

The blood rushed through her. How she loved a little crush for an emotional boost.

**_Sorry you aren’t here at breakfast.-S_ **

**_Oh? Miss me already? We must have brunch next time you’re in London-I_ **

**_That would be nice. Greg too?-S_ **

**_I wouldn’t mind it just being you and me-I_ **

**_You’re relentless, aren’t you? That’s funny. Because he’s defending you right now like it’s more serious than that.-S_ **

**_Pardon?-I_ **

**_Let’s say a discussion of your occupation of choice came up. Not directly, but I heard the side conversation. Spreading it like a game of telephone down the line. But when it got close to him.-S_ **

**_…_ **

Irene held her breath at the dots.

**_Sorry catching what he said at the end here. Yeah, he got up and told them all off, basically. -S_ **

She felt torn, hating him for defending her and what it implied. But the delicious drama? She hated missing that.

**_What did he say exactly?-I_ **

**_Pretty much how they were all rich, and they accepted him in but he was always the poor kid. Some nice bits about not having a Porsche rotting in a garage or a pony. -S_ **

**_Anything else?-I_ **

**_Yeah, they tried to talk about you and he said they can keep you out of their mouths. And he made them all confirm they understood. I get why you think he’s hot lol. But I’m gay so.-S_ **

**_So am I.-I_**

**_I know, but I’m Gay gay. You’re like... bi, right?-S_ **

**_Which, to be direct, is why I wish it was you I snogged.-I_ **

**_But it didn’t work that way. I think you’re good with what you got.-S_ **

**_Confession time. You like secrets, let me share one of mine.-I_ **

**_Interesting to trust me so. But I like you. So what is it?-S_ **

**_Greg and I aren’t “together” just friends. This was a job of sorts, meant to keep his ex on her heels and provide him with a date.-I_ **

**_Wow.-S_ **

**_This is the thing that really shocks you about me?-I_ **

**_No. Just shocked you aren’t a real couple.-S_ **

**_Well, we are friends so acting the next step isn’t that difficult.-I_ **

**_So you haven’t slept together?-S_ **

Irene paused. But she did not let the thought linger. 

**_Yes, we have, but what does that matter?-I_ **

**_Ah. Just the way you two look at each other when the other isn’t looking. I was sure it was something more.-S_ **

**_I’m just that good, perhaps. He is too. He is a detective after all.-I_ **

**_Ok. Sure. Anyway, headed for my flight. Safe travels.-S_ **

That was that. Delightful musings of making Sammie beg, clearing her mind of Em for even a moment, all flown. 

Her own thoughts clouded now. Once more him opening his damn mouth and rescuing her name. 

She’d been angry about it before. She didn’t like the feeling it stirred and set to packing her bag instead. 

-:-

“You shocked me.”

His ex stepped in front of him as they finished breakfast and began their goodbyes. He wanted to shove her out of the way, but he let her stop him. But she wasn’t getting anything out of me, he thought. 

He shook his head. “I don’t give a fuck what—”

“Oh, shut up one bloody minute,” she huffed. “I meant it as a compliment.”

Confusion soaked in his mind for a moment and his jaw dropped open. 

His ex sighed through her nose. “I forgot you had that fighting spirit, that’s all.” She shrugged, folding her arms. 

“Oh… but then... You ignored it,” he said, mirroring her with his arms across his chest. 

“Perhaps I did. Hard to admire it when you don’t want someone to fight for you. Actually, it’s really fucking annoying.” she snickered. “There’s the God’s honest truth.”

“We’re perfectly understood then… I’m real good at wasting my time apparently—”

She held up her hands. “It wasn’t all you… ok? That’s my fault too… yeah, I said it. And I apologise.”

He chuckled, “Really?”

“Your girlfriend had one thing right, adults communicate, and I never even tried that with you properly... right? So I guess… enough time has passed, and it needed to be said. Love isn’t sufficient. If you don’t even have that? Well then, it’s just being stubborn.” 

Her statement cut deep, but not for her. He moved so far past her she couldn’t sting him. But the words echoed another fear than she meant. 

But he angled to nod at one of their friends who was waving his goodbyes. It hid the emotion in his eyes well too, he thought as he turned back to her, a moment’s reprieve to find words.

“I’ve wished nothing but the best for you at this point. Maybe we both learned a lesson,” he offered with a resigned smile. 

But the look across her face made him shrink. “I did. But you’ll never learn. But that’s ok, at least it’s honest?”

She leaned up and he let her plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Best of luck, Greg. You’re gonna need it.” And with that, she walked away. 

He loved Irene. Obvious as the nose on his face. He knew even if she never read his note, she knew. But love isn’t enough sometimes. Not now. But he could protect her, encourage her, and send her back off in the world free as a bird. Some day he’d fall for someone new, something more peaceful, and he hoped the same for her. It’s practical and damned if he and Irene weren’t that above all else. 

If he wasn’t so kind and goddamned noble, he’d rush to the room, taking her in his arms and kissing away the entire weekend. But he suspected that would only result in the same goodbye. 

A text buzzed on his mobile and he sighed as he saw her name, a tiny ache sneaking in his chest.

_Get past it,_ he reminded himself.

But it was a practical text. 

**_Flight got delayed because of weather. -IA_ **

**_That’s no fun. You gonna wait it out?-GL_ **

**_Unsure. How was breakfast?-IA_ **

**_We’ll talk about when I get to the room. You packed?-GL_ **

**_Should be done in an hour.-IA_ **

**_Ok, I’ll be back up by then._ **

He needed a stronger drink to survive this day and he headed to the bar. He ordered two fingers’ worth of a good whisky he could nurse for an hour. 

-:-

  
  


_Breathe in and out. It’s almost over_ , Irene reminded herself. 

She wondered if his ex said anything to him or if she was her only target this weekend. Irene wished she’d said more. His ex treated him terribly, and it broke him a little. Or a lot. 

Irene knew the signs, she’d seen it in his capitulation. Anything to keep someone going. It wasn’t healthy… but oh, that was an awful thought. Had she used him after all as well? She didn’t want to. They’d moved beyond it to a comfortable friendship at moments, and yet it added to nothing. Even avoided sex while in the same bed... though she tried. And he didn’t let her sabotage herself.

_No more, just pack_ , she told herself. 

She finished packing her shoes and grabbed up an unused purse when the knock at the door let her know her tea arrived. She tossed the bag on the bed. 

Her hangover needed more than the coffee she attempted earlier. Her eyes glanced at the clock at her mobile and she poured herself a cup as she studied the rest of her packing required. With a good sip of tea, she started back.

She snatched the purse up off the bed, and it opened, spilling its contents. An envelope fluttered out of the handbag and her mind halted as her breath burned in her lungs. _OH no… no_ , she murmured to herself.

The note meant to be chucked in the bin sat unassuming on the duvet. He’d probably expected her to toss it. But here it is. Something written at their most estranged moment. 

She’d forgotten. She’d wanted to forget so desperately. But here it was reminding her once more that what appeared easy was deeply more complicated.

Unreadin the bin the state it needed to be. But that curiosity kicked in again. It would be the death of her, she mused. 

She weakly hoped it was a general letter. Something saying thank you. But she’s smarter than that. Her fingers snatched it up as she sat hard down on the bed edge. 

Her choice now. To let it be what it is and chips fall as they may. 

She opened it with a slide of her fingernail, and unfolded it carefully, his handwriting frantic and uneven. 

_You probably threw the flowers in the bin with this note. So I’ll bet on that to tell you what I’m thinking and then I’ll be ok. Life is short, right baby doll? Oh, but we were something beautifully stupid for a while. We risked too much, too fast. To say you fucked me, well, it’s a loaded statement. It’s deeper than that, and I’m a damned fool. Those rules we made, and I went and fell for you, anyway._

Her breath caught in her throat. It’s one thing to see the signs. The way he looked at her was obvious. His ex saying the words another layer. But to read it? That he had to put it on paper?

_Stop reading._ But her fingers tightened on the edges of the letter and she risked more.

_If it all went to plan, you’re free. My hand was forced, but I tried to balance things back. It’d be pretty selfish of me to interfere any further. But I can’t make any promises for my future self. He’s probably just as smart as that man that Friday night at club 1920 who invited a woman out of his league to play a game and lost and won at the same time. Maybe I’ll get to tell you the words you’ll hate to hear._

She easily perceived the declaration. Read it on the edge of his lips before. As they danced his eyes whispered in a silent, breathtaking melancholy. But why did she desire to alter that sentiment? Many gave her the same quiet sorrow when in her embrace, and she let them pine. Fed off it at times. But nothing with him felt like a game, and to disappoint him, to cause him hurt, was uninteresting now. 

The statement would be located further down the page. Stop or keep reading and place them in permanence, she pondered. Her heart thumping against her rib cage to ache with the worst piece of evidence, she mused. Inspecting her own pulse and cognisant that with no doubt that this all meant something to her. Sentiment, emotions. All there laid bare. She put the letter to her side for a moment; her hands holding on to the edge of the bed.

How? How did he do it? This isn’t how it works with her. Sherlock was also an exception, but that was… exciting. Dangerous and the meeting of two intellects. But Greg had a whole other element, foreign to her except in one relationship in the past when she was young. It didn’t make good sense that he made her heart turn to him. 

With a deep breath that ached in her throat, she picked up the paper and continued on. 

_Because you’re scared, and rightfully so. No one’s got your back, I’ve felt that too, Irene. But somehow I need you to know I will always have yours._

Truly promised and said because he proved it once again this morning. Damn his noble nature. She didn’t doubt it. And he was right. It scared her. But her eyes followed his words, the sound of his voice filling her mind. 

_We aren’t just a good shag, though we are quite good. We are two broken pieces of a puzzle that fit despite it all. I never said we made sense and I’ll never try to convince you or myself otherwise. I’m resigned to my fate. I’ll love you until the end, I have no doubt._

And there it is, she thought. No hiding behind veiled stares now. 

_It hurts like hell, but me and hurt are old friends. It is all mine to own. I couldn’t bear you feeling hurt for me._

“Too late,” she sighed. 

_I could wax poetic, but it won’t do me any good._

“You’re going to anyway” she said, shaking her head. 

_But here I go. I love you. Just you. Messy, compromised, aloof, hiding behind flirts but alive in my bed like no other you. All your past with its steps that put you at my doorstep. How could I hate that? These few months have been a gift. Some gifts aren’t permanent, and it’s on me to accept that._

How did he do this even in a letter, just work his way in all the cracks and make her... feel? A twinge grew behind her eyes. 

_I hope you find a nice girl someday that you settle down with. Someone who you can trust fully. Someone you settle into a quiet retirement with and love completely until death. It’s arrogant to think you could love me like that. We had history before we even laid eyes on each other. But maybe you did love me for a minute in the quiet of the nights you slept beside me._

His arms a soft home and she’d finally sought them, she thought as her mind soaked in this morning when nothing else mattered. That they almost were… what they really are. The taste of salt on her lips as she licked them stopped her in shock. Slow and devastating tears slipped down her cheeks in silence. But damage done, she reminded herself, and kept reading. 

_I’m blessed with that thought and I’m going to cling to it until I can’t hold on to it anymore. I want to be part of your life any way I can, but I understand if you can’t let me. To be honest, it’d be best to leave us all behind now. So one last time. I love you. If you ever need anything, I’m here, Irene._

She reached up, carefully wiping her eyes.

Enough of that. She stared at her bag. Maybe she could catch an earlier train? To anywhere; she could transfer. He’d be hurt without a goodbye, but he’d survive and so would she. She always did. He did too. If she left the letter, she wouldn’t even have to write her own. Her silence her reply for unsaid words.

She shoved his writing in the purse instead, stepped in the lavatory and stared in the mirror. Her eyes bright and turned red on the edges. In the reflection, her old persona with this dark hair, and suddenly she missed the blonde. Another person she allowed herself to be. Something softer and brighter and...it was him? No, surely not. Surely she hadn’t permitted him space that deep in her mind and heart. But he showed up anyway, nested in the feeling that sat like a stone in her chest. She didn’t have a word for it yet that she wanted to utter. 

Her eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlamps as she heard the door click. Feet frozen. She snatched up her eyeliner to her eye as he leaned into the loo. 

“Hey, you getting dressed? I need to leave here in the next half hour or so.”

“Just making my face up,” she said, noting the rasp in her voice. _Talk little until that clears._

He stepped over and leaned on the doorway, and she wished she’d closed herself in before. 

“Hey… you ok? Something happen?”

He’d seen the red in her eyes. But she turned with a forced grin, “Even someone with a steady hand as mine will slip. Liner’s really unpleasant if it hits your eye.”

He nodded, “Gotcha.”

He cleared his throat. “Hey, I got an idea.”

She continued to make the lines on her eyes, and stayed silent, not breathing.

“Take the train home with me.”

“Hmm?” Her heart beat pulsed in her ear.

“Yeah, it’s four hours, but you can take a nap better than on a plane or at the airport. Don’t have to bother with security and all.”

“Greg…”

He held up his hands. “I’m just being practical. You want out of here, right?”

“Not sure a four-hour train ride is the best idea.”

His smile, faint, struck her and she glanced away.

“We’re headed the same way. Sometimes you only need someone you know to sit beside you, eh?” 

“Fine,” she sighed through her nose, rubbing her hands down her side. “If it’s going to rain like this, I’d rather it be in London. You get me the ticket then.”

He grinned, licking his lips as he backed out the room." You need any help packing?" 

Her eyes wide as his hand reached near the purse on the bed and picked it up. 

“No!” she yelled, reaching out, though she couldn’t prevent anything that happened next. Softened her tone with haste as she looked back with surprise. “No, I have my method.”

He tossed the purse back, “Alright then.” She stared until she was sure it stayed closed as she slowed her heartbeat and breathing.

He sat on the sofa on his mobile, getting her a ticket. She called the airline and received a voucher. Well enough, the flight got delayed another hour from the original time. 

She packed in silence. The end of any holiday decidedly too sombre, but this one was one for the books, they both thought.

“You ready?” he murmured as he stood when she zipped her last bag.

“Always,” she replied with a smirk.

“Hey… thank you… honestly, it was really fun,” he said as he stepped closer to her, hands shoved in his pockets. 

She looked away, not daring to stare in those dark eyes that would pierce right through her. “Thank you, too.”

He squinted at her _thank you_. Her voice hitched in the smallest way and he couldn’t read it without an ache spreading across his chest. He resigned; it was too late to try now. 

He helped her carry her baggage down rather than waiting for help since they delayed because of the large wedding party leaving. 

Both he and Irene gave quick goodbyes to some lingering guests and dashed outside. She pulled her coat tighter. 

He took her luggage without a remark, setting it with care in the back of the taxi with his. She resisted instinct and waited for him to open the door, and he did it without a word.

They settled on opposite sides of the car.

“Sorry if I’m not chatty on the way back to London. Work emails catch up,” He said softly with a faraway look out the window, avoiding her stare. 

He’s already letting go. Assured in that she only acted her part, she assumed.

“Yes...” she replied in a whisper, glancing out the window to the surrounding Edinburgh fog. 

His thoughts laser focused on her despite appearances. He did it all for her. Just for one more weekend to be close to her and also to make her feel normal. He used all his energy to act as if her presence didn’t overwhelm him

She pulled her coat tighter around her, attempting to seem unaware of his sudden cold demeanor she suspected was his best act yet. She almost believed it. In the past she would have considered him weak, followed by a merry laugh how he cared for her. But she couldn’t muster anything near what she’d expected. 

He loved her.

And that hurt inside so much she could hardly breathe.

On the train he stored their luggage and followed her to their seats. 

He murmured. “You want the window or…?”

She only nodded and took the seat, staring out as they waited to depart. Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. 

As they left the city, a blanket of rain hid it behind a wet grey. Like tears, she mused.

His promise of silence kept looking at his mobile. She peered out the window, watching the western edge of Highlands roll by. His leg brushed hers and she looked down, letting her mind process what would happen next. 

As she adjusted in her seat, her eyes focused on his reflection in the window instead. All the fine lines she grew accustomed to blurred and gone. She pondered about him, young and free. Life full of summer flings and dreams to realise. Hope is a dangerous emotion. People will move mountains for it. Threatening to wreck him at every corner, she reflected. But he couldn’t relinquish it. She both envied and sympathised with his fault. His only one she could determine now. Persistent and deliberate love. She stared at the image as his eyes closed tight.

He’d made decisive choices. So many sacrifices for her. Always for her. What could she offer, she wondered? So what if she felt something? But she needed him to know. She needed him. She wanted him, and she couldn’t lose him. Yes, he was her friend, but so much more than that. Someone who understood her nature and truly cherished it. It’s rare. She appreciated that and still, a part of her demanded to run. But her feet now nailed to whatever ground he set. Time to risk it. The fear of rejection oddly absent, but her heart tried to leap out of her rib cage as she mapped her thoughts to express.

She swallowed a lump thick as jam down her dry throat. The words clinging to the cliff’s edge, but she cannot take them back whether or not she spoke them. Why waste it?

Her head fell against his chest as she leaned against him. He stiffened, and she waited until he relaxed. 

He thought he’d be strong enough to deny her. Love her or not, she made the rules clear before they came. The dancing? Part of the act. Kisses? Yeah there was a conversation in bed but when they were drunk but they were, well, drunk. Drunk actions are sober thoughts he’d pondered until it hurts so much he couldn’t stand. He didn’t want that anymore. Anyone else he might call this cruel. But he knew her better than that. 

This was wholly new. The tenderness sent a wave of hopeful ache across his ribcage. And he had to ask. 

“Irene—”

“I love you too.” she said breathlessly as she licked her lips.

Her voice low but he heard it as if she yelled it. She didn’t say another word. She didn’t dare look up at him. His heart beat a drumbeat in her ear and she closed her eyes, listening, grounding herself in the physical sign of his reaction.

The unexpected hope so faint before he suspected he’d misheard. But he couldn’t ask for a repeat. She’d read the letter after all. It all washed over him, a frightening thought, but somehow, it worked. It all worked and to what extent they’d find out. 

She loves him. Perhaps even as much as he loves her. 

He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her head, lingering as he recorded every emotion and smell in a memory he’d take to his dying day. His hand sought and found hers, entwining fingers as his thumb stroked along hers. She squeezed his hand, repeating her confession.

“Dinner and dessert when we get home?” he croaked out with happy tears starting at the edge of his eyes. 

“I’d like nothing better,” she grinned against his chest, wrapping her other arm around his waist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it! Yell away at me.
> 
> Thanks to Mouse9 of course my partner in crime in this endeavor. Big ups to MizJoely for her support the entire time. and all our readers thank you for loving this little ship
> 
> We do advise downloading the entire series if you want to keep it. Its possible it might not stay on here forever. 
> 
> Title is a line he said to her in the first story Backseat Driver.

**Author's Note:**

> 6 chapters total for this fic and this will be the conclusion of their story. Hope you have enjoyed the ride!


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